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THE   SECOND   GENERATION 


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THE 
SECOND     GENERATION 


BY 


JAMES   WEBER   LINN 


Neto  gotfc 
THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Ltd. 
1902 

AU  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1902, 
By  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


NorfooutJ  |3regg 

J.  8.  dishing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith 

Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


To  J.  A. 


M 


394 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION 


THE  SECOND  GENERATION 


THE  PROLOGUE.,    -\  l.\ 

The  curtain  rises  on  a  stage  as  plain  as  the 
old  Elizabethans', — a  little  bare  room,  contain- 
ing a  pine  desk  without  a  lid,  three  chairs,  and 
two  of  the  inevitable  receptacles  whose  presence 
indicates,  to  the  student  of  sociology,  the  hab- 
itat of  the  American  politician,  just  as  certain 
deep  scratches  on  ancient  petrified  trees  are 
said  to  be  proof  of  the  one-time  presence,  in 
those  woods,  of  the  megatherium.  Maps  cov- 
ered the  walls  —  maps  wherein  blue,  red,  yel- 
low, and  brown  lines,  striking  an  unerring 
course,  were  supposed  to  show  the  railroads 
of  the  state;  maps  cut  into  large  and  small 
squares,  like  trigonometrical  paper,  numbered, 
lettered,  and  shaded,  to  indicate  the  possessor 
of  every  forty  acres  of  land  in  the  county.  A 
heavy  odour  of  tobacco  brooded  over  all.  This 
room    was    the    inner    office    of    Christopher 


2  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

Wheeler,  generally  known  as  the  "  boss  of  the 
33d "  —  that  is  the  33d  Congressional  Dis- 
trict of  Indiana.  The  boss  sat  at  his  desk, 
dwarfing  it.  His  physique  was  one  great  asset 
of  hlj  capital.  His  big  red  head  flared  like  a 
torch  on  shoulders  only  less  massive  than  the 
huge  1  :derbrmities  of  the  Farnese  Hercules; 
they  squared  themselves  to  bear  it ;  in  the  evo- 
lution of  that  effort,  Wheeler's  neck,  if  he  had 
ever  had  one,  had  long  since  disappeared.  His 
great  arms,  the  wrists  thatched  like  an  ape's 
with  a  close  growth  of  hair,  terminated  in 
hands  thick,  stubby,  and  powerful  as  hammers. 
Those  fingers  could  wrench  a  horseshoe  into  a 
flat  bar,  or  tear  a  pack  of  cards  across.  As  he 
leaned  forward  over  the  desk,  to  enforce  his 
point,  they  thumped  heavily  among  the  papers. 
His  clothes  hung  on  him  carelessly  —  a  vast 
soiled  shirt,  crossed  like  a  desert  by  the  two 
pathways  of  his  braces ;  trousers  of  good  mate- 
rial, with  a  purple  stripe.  His  shoes,  even  in 
Indiana,  were  perforce  made  to  measure,  a 
fact  in  which  Wheeler  took  a  possibly  inordi- 
nate pride. 

At  the  moment  his  face  was  crinkled  into  a 
wide  and  ingratiating  smile.     But  John  Kent 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION  3 

was  not  to  be  appeased  by  a  smile.  The  Editor 
of  the  Scannell  County  Clarion,  lank,  dark- 
faced,  with  a  thin  neck  thrust  above  a  low 
collar  and  a  loose  string  tie,  restless,  bright, 
wide-set  eyes,  small  ears,  wide  mouth  close- 
shut,  looked  like  those  lithographs  of  Henry 
Clay  which  you  may  see  on  the  lid  of  certain 
boxes  of  cigars.  His  long,  thin  fingers  were 
stained  with  ink,  and  his  stained  cuffs  above 
them  were  frayed  and  careless.  In  a  drawing- 
room  he  would  have  made  a  poorer  figure  than 
the  boss,  perhaps. 

"  See  here,  Chris,"  he  insisted,  "  I  don't  say 
you  want  to  dodge,  but  it  looks  to  me  as  if  you 
were  dodging  just  the  same.  I  promised  the 
boys  you'd  give  a  straight  answer  to  a  straight 
question,  and  it's  going  to  hurt  you  if  you 
don't.  Are  you,  or  ain't  you,  going  to  vote  for 
the  Consolidated?  " 

Wheeler's  smile  slowly  gave  way  to  a  look 
of  deliberation;  his  eyes  met  Kent's  squarely. 
"  Well,  John,"  he  answered,  "  's  far's  I  can  see 
now,  I  reckon  I  am." 

The  little  Editor  had  more  than  half  ex- 
pected it ;  yet  it  startled  him  when  it  came. 

At  this  time,  and  especially  in  that  part  of 


4  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

Indiana  nearly  surrounding  Scannell  County, 
the  first  burst  of  the  discovery  of  oil  had 
passed,  and  the  country  was  engaged  in  devel- 
oping its  resources  in  a  systematic,  if  somewhat 
scattered,  manner.  Hundreds  of  small  firms 
were  embarked  in  the  oil  business,  buying, 
refining,  shipping  —  on  a  small  scale  but  with 
steady  profits.  Into  this  hive  of  industry  came 
a  huge  stone  —  the  announcement  that  the 
Consolidated  Oil  Company  not  only  sought  a 
charter  to  do  business  in  the  state,  but  were  on 
the  point  of  securing  one.  The  governor  was 
understood  to  be  favourable  to  their  project; 
only  the  individual  legislators,  then,  stood  be- 
tween the  company  and  its  aims.  Many  of 
these,  especially  from  districts  where  no  trace 
of  oil  could  be  detected,  had  seen  no  reason 
why  the  development  of  the  business  should 
not  fall  altogether  into  the  hands  of  one  com- 
pany ;  but  for  two  years  the  majority  had  stood 
the  other  way.  Now  for  the  third  time  the 
bills  chartering  the  company  had  been  intro- 
duced, and  the  opposition  to  it  was  said  to  be 
much  less  steady.  Rumours  of  fabulous  sums 
offered  here  and  there  by  the  lobbyists  of  the 
company  began  to  have  a  double  effect:   they 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  5 

roused  the  small  firms  to  terror,  and  excited 
the  cupidity  of  even  the  most  honest.  Honest 
and  dishonest,  however,  among  the  congress- 
men of  the  oil  districts,  stood  together  for  a 
time  against  the  innovation,  the  one  in  the  fear 
of  God,  the  others  of  their  constituents.  Sud- 
denly the  news  crept  abroad  somehow  that 
Chris  Wheeler,  politically  as  physically  the 
biggest  man  in  that  part  of  the  state,  would 
vote  for  the  coming  of  the  Consolidated ;  Chris 
Wheeler,  whom  the  men  of  the  oil  district  had 
put  and  kept  in  power,  till  their  united  support, 
always  ready  to  hand,  made  his  reflections 
matters  of  course.  The  rumour  was  laughed  at 
for  two  days.  Then  when  no  savage  denial  was 
issued  by  Wheeler,  it  was  laughed  at  no  more. 
They  wrote  him,  some  angrily,  some  appeal- 
ingly,  some  apparently  half-amused.  For  re- 
sult he  left  the  legislature  for  a  day,  and  came 
home  to  answer  for  his  deeds.  When  they 
heard  he  was  in  town,  his  constituents  breathed 
more  freely,  for  it  was  argued  that  he  would 
never  dare  face  them  if  he  intended  to  tell  them 
they  were  betrayed.  Some  few,  Kent  among 
them,  who  knew  with  more  exactitude  the 
character  of  their  representative  in  the  state 


6  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

legislature,  were  not  even  then  quite  assured. 
This  view  was  expressed,  briefly,  by  one  The- 
ophilus  Green,  known  as  "  File,"  by  avocation 
fisherman  and  woodsawyer,  by  vocation  politi- 
cal philosopher  and  prophet. 

"  Chris  Wheeler,"  he  remarked,  "  ain't 
afraid  of  nothin'  but  bein'  poor.  And  ef  it's 
true  he's  goin'  to  vote  for  the  Consolidated,  I 
reckon  he  ain't  afraid  of  thet,  no  more."  Hav- 
ing personally  nothing  at  stake  in  the  matter 
in  question,  File,  as  usual  with  disinterested 
Americans,  affected  the  cynically-amused.  But 
the  major  part  of  the  delegation  which,  unoffi- 
cial but  serious,  wended  toward  Wheeler's  office 
the  next  morning,  went  to  have  its  temporary 
gloom  dispelled.  Wheeler  was  there  before 
them ;  greeted  the  first  of  them  cordially ;  then 
withdrew  with  Kent,  the  principal  spokesman 
of  the  crowd,  to  his  inner  office.  This  move 
reawoke  the  sleeping  fears.  Why  should  he 
not  disclaim  publicly  among  them  any  intention 
of  supporting  the  dreaded  company?  So  they 
alternated  in  confidence  and  trepidation,  wan- 
dering into  the  passage  to  spit,  and  back  again 
to  discuss  and  wonder,  till  gradually  the  outer 
office  and  the  hallway  were  nearly  filled  with 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  7 

uneasy  voters,  shepherd  dogs,  and  a  few  boys 
anxious  for  excitement.  But  still  the  confer- 
ence within  went  on. 

The  little  Editor  was  startled  indeed.  If 
Chris  Wheeler,  for  whatever  reason,  should 
announce  a  determination  to  support  the  Con- 
solidated Company,  a  host  of  wavering  legis- 
lators would  fall  in  behind  him.  The  whole 
plan  was  clear  as  sunlight.  Given  a  strong 
man  who  could  be  induced  to  bear  responsibil- 
ity and  odium :  the  rest  was  easy.  Kent  won- 
dered rapidly  how  much  the  inducement  had 
been.  What  could  he  say  to  offset  greed  ?  He 
had  known  Wheeler  for  years;  should  he  try 
appeal  ? 

"  Chris,"  he  said  directly,  "  you're  not  in 
earnest?  " 

The  big  man's  face  hardened.  "  Why  not, 
then?" 

"  You  can't  afford  it,  Chris.  Why,  every 
man  in  the  district  would  be  down  on  you. 
Look  at  the  crowd  out  there  now.  You  know 
what  they  think;  you're  the  only  man  between 
them  and  ruin.  They've  put  you  there ;  what'll 
they  say  if  you  turn  against  'em  ?  what'll  they 
do?"   ' 


8  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

Wheeler  shifted  his  big  bulk.  "  Do?  they'll 
come  round,  John.  Some  of  'em  don't  see  this 
thing  in  quite  the  right  way.  They're  good 
people,  but  they're  narrow.  When  the  Consol- 
idated has  been  in  Indiana  a  year,  they'll  be 
coming  up  here  in  droves  to  thank  me." 

"  I  wonder  if  Tom  Bayard  will  come  up 
too,"  remarked  Kent,  meditatively.  "  I  was 
down  to  Medora  last  Saturday,  and  I  had  din- 
ner with  him.  He's  got  a  nice  little  wife  and 
two  little  children.  '  How's  business?  '  said  I. 
1  Fine;  just  waking  up,'  he  says.  But  he 
looked  a  little  worried.  '  What's  the  matter, 
Tom  ?  '  I  asked  him. 

"  '  Well,'  he  said,  '  it's  this  d d  Consoli- 
dated Company.  People  keep  on  chattering 
and  chattering,  how  it's  bound  to  get  in  here. 
'F  it  does,  it's  all  day  with  me;  they'll  under- 
sell me,  steal  all  my  business,  and  drive  me 
right  out.  I  had  to  starve  the  missis  awhile 
just  after  we  were  married,  and  I  kind  of  hate 
to  think  of  doing  it  again.  That's  the  hell  of 
having  kids,'  he  said,  '  it  makes  you  nervous.' 
I  tried  to  cheer  him  up.  ■  Here's  Chris/  I 
told  him, '  the  old  red-headed  rock  of  Gibraltar, 
he'll  never  let  the  Consolidated  people  ride  over 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  9 

us  little  fellows;  he's  a  match  for  them. 
What'd  you  help  elect  him  for?  '  It  seemed  to 
kind  of  refresh  him.  '  That's  so,'  he  said.  '  I 
reckon  it's  safe  enough!'  D'you  think  he'll 
come  up  with  the  rest  of  them  to  thank  you, 
Chris?" 

The  big  boss  stirred  uneasily  again.  As  he 
had  gone  over  the  matter  in  his  mind,  he  had 
made  an  abstract  question  of  it.  It  was  a 
problem  of  dollars  and  cents,  of  the  ultimate 
development  of  business  and  resources.  Sud- 
denly, out  from  among  the  figures,  here  leaped 
a  man,  an  actual  man  he  knew,  Tom  Bayard  of 
Medora,  who  might  be  forced  to  starve  his  wife 
and  children.  But  the  impression  was  only 
momentary;  Political  Economy  came  rapidly 
to  his  relief. 

"  See  here,  John,"  he  explained,  "  if  the  Con- 
solidated is  going  to  bust  Tom  Bayard  or  any- 
body else  —  mind  I  don't  admit  that  it  is,  but 
if  it  is  —  how  can  I  help  it  ?  I  was  elected  to 
do  the  best  I  could  for  the  state  of  Indiana. 
She's  got  oil;  she  needs  money.  These  two- 
cent  firms  can't  help  her  out.  What  she  wants 
is  a  company  with  capital,  that  can  use  all  the 
latest  methods  in  producin'  and  sellin'  both,  a 


10  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

company  that  moves  by  machinery  from  start 
to  finish.  That's  what  she  wants,  and  that 
she's  got  to  have,  if  it  kicks  over  every  little 

private  derrick  from  here  to  h 1.    Why,  'f 

I  didn't  know  that  in  two  years  you'll  see  it  as 
I  do,  d'you  think  I'd  run  the  risk  of  supporting 
this  company  ?  You've  said  yourself  they'll  all 
go  back  on  me;  it'll  be  '  Chris  the  robber  '  —  I 
can  hear  'em.  But  let  'em  talk,  John,  let  'em 
talk;  let  'em  throw  me  over  next  election  and 
pick  up  some  fool  that  goes  with  the  crowd. 
They'll  find  out  fast  enough  he  is  a  fool,  and 
back  they'll  come  a-running  to  get  a  man  again. 
I'm  not  Tom  Jefferson  nor  Andrew  Jackson, 
but  I  can  see  through  a  hole  anyway.  They 
can  retire  me;   they  can  scrape  the  butter  off 

my  bread,  and  be  d d  to  'em;   but  when  I 

see  a  thing  is  the  right  thing,  right  for  me, 
right  for  the  state,  right  for  everybody, 
why  —  "  He  picked  up  an  enormous  handker- 
chief from  the  desk,  and  mopped  his  face  and 
neck,  heated  by  his  own  oratory. 

"  How  much  are  they  giving  you,  Chris?  " 
said  Kent,  in  the  tones  of  one  asking  for  a 
match. 

As  the  meaning  of  the  question  penetrated 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  II 

Wheeler's  brain  his  face  became  hideous;  the 
thick  lips  seemed  to  draw  back  like  a  dog's; 
tremendous  molars,  stained  yellowish  brown 
by  tobacco,  started  into  view;  the  great  nose 
and  the  eyes  drew  closer  together;  and  just  as 
at  the  end  of  his  previous  speech,  Wheeler  had 
seemed  powerful  and  almost  manly,  he  looked 
now  one  instant  later  powerful  and  almost 
devilish. 

"  How's  that?  "  he  demanded,  heavily. 

"  How  much  are  they  giving  you,  Chris?  " 

"  You  —  you  —  "  Wheeler  paused,  it 
seemed  because  the  swelling  veins  in  his  neck 
were  choking  him.  "  Get  out  of  here,"  he 
cried  fiercely,  when  for  a  moment  the  two  men 
had  stared  at  each  other  in  silence.  He  rose 
with  the  words.    But  Kent  held  his  ground. 

"  You  talk  about  the  state  of  Indiana,"  he 
pursued  rapidly.  "  Why,  if  you  saw  a  man  with 
one  hand  on  her  throat  and  the  other  grabbing 
her  pocket-book,  would  you  make  a  speech  or 
would  you  jump  in  and  pull  him  off?  I  reckon 
it  would  depend  on  how  much  was  in  the 
pocket-book.  Why,  Chris  Wheeler,  I've  known 
you  fifteen  years  and  more;  do  you  think  you 
can  fool  me  with  your  talk  about  the  develop- 


12  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

ment  of  resources?  I  asked  you  how  much 
you  would  get,  didn't  I?  Well,  it's  what  every 
man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  33d  District  will 
ask  with  me.  It's  what  the  Scannell  County 
Clarion  will  ask  at  the  head  of  every  column  till 
I'm  under  ground  or  you  are.  You  work  for 
the  Consolidated  Oil  Company,  and  you're  a 
dead  coon,  Chris  Wheeler  —  deader'n  mack- 
erel. You  can't  get  another  vote  out  of  the 
33d  with  a  pickaxe.  Well,  what  do  you 
think  ?  Are  these  principles  of  yours  worth  it  ? 
Think  about  it,  Chris;  think  about  it  a  long 
time."  Kent's  sneer  was  unconcealed;  he  had 
dropped  his  mask  of  calmness.  He  stood  alert, 
expecting  nothing  else  than  physical  violence 
on  the  part  of  Wheeler.  But  the  boss  had  to 
some  degree  regained  control  over  himself. 
He  confined  himself  to  abuse. 

"  You  think  so  ?  Who  are  you,  you  half-fed 
ink-slinger?  Where  have  you  got  to  in  the 
world  —  proprietor  of  a  dirty  little  Scannell 
County,  patent  inside,  job-printing,  hand-press 
weekly,  a  man  that  can't  buy  soap  and  meat  the 
same  week !  You  talk  about  principles  ?  "  He 
pulled  a  silver  dollar  from  his  pocket,  with  one 
twist  of  his  powerful  fingers  bent  it  double, 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 3 

and  tossed  it  in  a  corner.     "  Principles  ?     By 

G d,  if  I  left  this  office  you'd  go  snooping 

over  there  for  the  money !  " 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  every  dollar  you 
owned  was  as  crooked  as  that  one,"  remarked 
Kent.  No  sooner  had  he  spoken  than  with  a 
backhanded  slap  Wheeler  knocked  him  down. 
For  a  moment  he  lay  still  while  the  politician, 
still  enraged,  stood  over  him;  then  he  rose 
painfully  and  went  out,  like  a  man  dazed. 

As  he  appeared,  holding  a  handkerchief  to 
his  bleeding  face,  white  as  death  under  the 
blood  and  tan,  a  chorus  of  exclamations  greeted 
him.  He  held  up  his  hand  and  there  was 
silence. 

"  Our  representative,"  he  said,  "  has  de- 
cided to  vote  for  the  Consolidated  Oil  Com- 
pany's bill."  Then,  disregarding  questions 
and  exclamations,  leaving  tumult  and  wonder- 
ment behind  him,  he  passed  out  into  the  street. 
The  hot  May  sun  poured  unheeded  on  his  bare 
head.  He  saw  no  one,  heard  nothing  but 
Wheeler's  voice  ringing  in  his  ears.  From  mo- 
ment to  moment,  mechanically,  he  put  up  his 
handkerchief  afresh  to  stanch  the  blood  drip- 
ping slowly  from  his  nostrils.     Sometimes  he 


14  THE   SECOND    GENERATION 

leaned  against  the  fence  for  support.  Once, 
making  a  misstep,  he  fell;  but  again  picked 
himself  up  and  plodded  on.  To  the  casual  ob- 
server, if  there  had  been  any  such,  he  must  have 
seemed  very  drunk.  At  length  he  reached  his 
own  house,  entered  it,  and  lay  down  upon  a 
couch.  His  wife,  coming  singing  into  the 
room  by  chance  some  minutes  later,  found  him 
there,  his  clothes  dusty  from  his  fall,  his  face 
covered  with  dirt  and  blood,  a  bubble  of  foam 
between  his  discoloured  lips.  She  thought  him 
dead,  and  the  song  ended  in  a  scream,  but  the 
sound  of  her  voice  seemed  to  call  his  faculties 
back.     He  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Where's  Jerome?  "  he  asked  thickly. 

"  Jerome  ?  "  she  repeated  wildly. 

"  Call  the  boy,"  he  repeated.  "  I  want 
him." 

She  groped  weakly  about  the  room  with  her 
eyes;  she  believed  him  crazy,  delirious.  But 
at  this  moment  a  young  boy  of  seven  or  eight, 
carrying  a  long  whip,  made  his  appearance  in 
the  doorway. 

"  Ged  up !  "  he  cried,  lashing  the  legs  of  a 
chair;  then,  perceiving  his  father,  an  unwonted 
presence  at  that  hour,  he  ran  over  to  him. 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 5 

"  Oh,  Pop/'  he  demanded,  "  what  are  you 
doing  here?  Come  and  play  horses."  Sud- 
denly the  spectacle  of  dust  and  blood  robbed 
him  of  speech,  and  he  stood  with  mouth  open, 
wondering.  Kent  began  to  speak  with  effort, 
and  partly  it  seemed  to  himself. 

"  I  told  him  the  truth,  Mame,  and  then  he 
hit  me." 

"  He  has  killed  you,"  she  moaned. 

Kent  made  a  feeble  motion  of  dissent.  "  No, 
no,  it's  my  heart,  the  old  trouble.  It  was  the 
excitement,  not  the  blow;  he  didn't  hurt  me, 
Mame.  I'll  be  —  all  right  —  soon."  He 
waited  a  space,  collecting  his  energies  again, 
with  closed  eyes.  Suddenly  the  words  shot 
from  him  in  a  torrent.  "  No,  no,  no,  it's  not 
for  myself  I  mind.  But  I  must  fight  him  to 
the  end,  Mame.  He's  a  liar  and  a  thief;  he's 
going  to  ruin  all  his  friends.  He'll  not  stay  in 
Kirksville;  he  can't.  But  I  must  follow  him 
wherever  he  goes ;  I  must  show  every  one  what 
he  is;  he  must  get  no  more  friends  to  betray 
like  these.     Never,  never,  never!    Jerome!" 

The  boy  drew  near,  hesitating,  reluctant. 

"  We  must  help  each  other,  boy.  Will  you 
help  papa?" 


1 6  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

"  John !  "  cried  his  wife.  "  What  are  you 
saying?" 

"  Yes,  yes/'  he  insisted  weakly  but  doggedly ; 
and  he  put  out  a  hand  until  he  had  clasped  his 
child's.  "Not  revenge,  Mame;  only  justice. 
I  don't  want  revenge;  I  provoked  him.  But 
he  must  do  no  more  harm  that  I  can  help.  I 
may  go  any  time;  then  Jerome  must  take  my 
place  and  fight  my  fight." 

Jerome's  mother  with  one  swift  motion 
caught  the  child  away.  "  A  baby  —  to  say 
such  things  to  a  baby,"  she  protested  with  a 
sob. 

"  He  will  grow  up."  Again  the  little  Editor 
sank  back  exhausted.  His  wife,  frightened 
and  not  knowing  what  else  to  do,  brought  a 
basin  of  water  and  timidly  bathed  his  face. 
Then,  the  child  assisting,  she  got  him  into  bed, 
and  —  since  he  would  not  have  her  bring  a 
doctor  —  set  about  preparing  various  homely 
remedies.  Meanwhile  a  delegation  of  farmers 
came  to  consult  with  the  Editor  about  Wheel- 
er's action;  but  she  told  them  he  was  ill,  and 
they  went  slowly  away.  When  Kent  heard 
that  they  had  come  and  gone  he  would  have 
risen  to  follow  them  in  spite  of  her  tears,  but 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 7 

he  lacked  the  strength.    So,  lying  still,  he  cried 
softly  like  a  punished  child. 

"  Oh,  you  shouldn't  have  done  that,  you 
shouldn't  have  done  that,  Mame,"  he  repeated. 
"  I  might  have  helped  them  someway !  " 


CHAPTER  I 

Among  the  crowd  pouring  from  the  Polk 
Street  railroad  station  in  the  city  of  Chicago 
walked  a  young  man,  leisurely  looking  about 
him.  The  May  sun  greeted  him  like  an  old 
friend,  lighting  up  with  appreciation  his  broad 
shoulders  and  fine  head,  and  seeming  to  smile 
at  his  clothes  of  a  country  cut.  He  smiled 
back,  except  when  some  odour,  unusually  pro- 
nounced, smote  his  nostrils,  when  he  sniffed 
suspiciously. 

"  Not  exactly  apple  blossoms  either,,,  he 
murmured  to  himself,  thinking  of  the  forests 
of  bloom  that  he  had  left  behind.  "Well, 
well !  "  He  brought  up  with  a  round  turn 
before  a  grimy  window  filled  with  revolvers, 
brilliants,  accordions,  boxing-gloves,  and  other 
debris  left  there  by  the  ebbing  tide  of  fortune, 
and  stared  with  interest  at  the  collection. 
"  That  must  be  a  pawnshop,  eh  ?  "  He  looked 
Upward.  "  If  it  is,  there  ought  to  be  three 
19 


20  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

gilt  balls,"  he  thought;  and  a  satisfied  smile 
in  a  moment  lay  upon  his  lips.    There  were. 

Then  he  sauntered  on  up  Clark  Street,  con- 
tinuing to  survey  the  place  in  which  he  had 
come  to  live.  All  his  preconceived  ideas  of 
great  cities  he  had  from  books.  This  was  his 
first  bit  of  actual  experience.  To  one  interested 
in  Chicago  it  seems  a  pity  that  on  leaving  the 
stations  of  almost  all  the  railroads  the  stranger 
must  plunge  at  once  into  some  of  the  most  sor- 
did and  unpleasant  quarters  of  the  town.  First 
impressions  are  proverbially  difficult  to  remove. 
Jerome  Kent  read  newspapers  as  well  as  books, 
and  the  newspapers  of  Chicago  are  most  inde- 
fatigable heralds  of  the  city's  filth  as  well  as  of 
its  magnitude;  yet  the  reality  came  to  the 
countryman  with  an  unpleasant  shock. 

"  These  roads,"  he  meditated,  glancing  at 
the  shaky  and  splintering  wooden  blocks  that 
served  for  pavement,  "  are  just  about  as  bad  as 
ours  in  Scannell  County ;  and  yet  here  there  is 
more  traffic  in  an  hour  than  we  have  in  a  year." 
He  noticed  that  the  liquor  trade  was  promi- 
nently represented  on  both  sides  of  the  street. 
"  Saloons,  and  a  few  shops,"  was  his  summary. 
A  tin  box  at  a  corner,  wide-mouthed,  tottering 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  21 

on  three  legs,  caught  his  eye.  It  had  been  red 
at  one  time,  but  the  original  colour  was  now 
doubly  overlaid  with  advertisements  and  dirt. 
A  legend  ran  across  the  top,  confused  among 
the  grimy  praises  of  newspapers,  drugs,  and 
biscuits.    Jerome  stooped  to  read  it :  — 

"  Help  keep  the  city  clean." 

He  looked  about  him,  —  at  low-browed  and 
filthy  doorways,  at  the  wavering  and  filthy 
pavement,  down  the  long  perspective  of  gray 
and  garish  fronts,  and  upward  at  the  well- 
meaning  sun  in  an  obscured  and  smoky  sky. 
Then  he  laughed.  This  box,  with  the  pitiful 
motto,  was  a  confession.  "  Poor  devils,"  he 
said  aloud,  "  they  need  help."  In  all  the  view 
there  was  not  one  point  to  hold  and  relieve  the 
eye,  not  one  indication  of  any  desire  above  a 
beast/ s. 

He  had  come  to  Jackson  Boulevard,  wonder- 
ing. Now  it  unrolled  its  dark  gray  ribbon 
before  him,  shining  between  grim  and  perpen- 
dicular walls  of  masonry,  carried  up  like  forts 
into  the  clouds.  It  was  a  street  level  and 
straight.  Carriages  passed  up  and  down,  bicy- 
cles slid  in  and  out  like  spindles  through  a  web. 
The  tunk-a-tunk,  tunk-a-tunk-tunk  of  horses' 


22  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

hoofs  rang  in  his  ears.  Straining  his  eyes,  he 
fancied  that  far  down  lakeward  he  could  catch 
a  glimpse  of  blue.  It  was  part  of  a  city,  this, 
a  city  busy  and  commercial,  a  city  with  little 
time  over  for  pleasure  and  the  cultivation  of  the 
soul  and  mind,  but  a  city  of  civilization  and 
not  of  civic  savagery,  such  as  that  other  street 
belonged  to  and  foretold.  He  swung  his 
glance  down  that  once  more.  A  tramp,  bristly 
and  tattered,  jostled  him.  Down  a  little  way  a 
saloon  door  opened  suddenly,  and  with  invol- 
untary quickness  and  an  expression  of  sodden 
despair  another  wayfarer  appeared  and  fell  in 
a  heap  on  the  sidewalk.  He  lay  there,  cursing ; 
nobody  heeded  him.  Jerome  wondered  again. 
Was  this  the  past  and  present;  or  were  both 
streets  present,  and  would  both  be  future  ? 

After  some  search  he  discovered  the  office  of 
the  Eagle.  It  towered  conspicuously  enough 
even  among  the  masses  of  steel  and  stone  about 
it,  ten  stories,  like  a  cliff.  When  he  reached 
the  elevator,  he  meant  to  time  the  ascent;  but 
the  noiseless  cage  whirled  him  up  halfway  be- 
fore he  could  get  out  his  watch.  Mr.  Nor- 
throp's  office  was  No.  916,  the  negro  operator 
informed   him,   the   third   door   on   the   left, 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  2% 

Then  the  negro  and  his  machine  fell  again  into 
their  cavern,  and  Jerome  found  himself  wait- 
ing for  the  interview  he  had  so  long  antici- 
pated. 

He  had  time,  however,  to  pull  himself  to- 
gether before  the  attendant  allowed  him  to 
enter  Northrop's  private  office.  He  had  time 
to  notice  all  the  details  of  the  panelled  waiting 
room ;  the  red  walls,  the  black  and  upholstered 
chairs,  the  string  of  tiny  gold  beads,  infinitesi- 
mal electric  lights,  that  ran  about  the  moulding. 
He  had  time  to  wonder  whether  all  business 
men  in  Chicago  thus  received  all  applicants  in 
sybaritic  luxury,  above  a  surging  panorama 
of  roofs  and  swaying  smoke  —  and  what  his 
own  chance  was  to  be;  whether  this  tremen- 
dous congeries  of  smoke  and  iron  and  stone 
and  flesh  and  blood,  roaring  now  about  and 
below  him,  would  ever  know  that  he  had  come 
into  it  in  the  flush  of  his  youth,  or  would  swal- 
low him  up  as  it  had  swallowed  a  million 
others,  and  leave  him  to  die,  finally,  and  his 
name,  erased  from  the  directory,  to  be  cut  on  a 
tombstone,  and  nobody  a  particle  the  wiser. 
What  were  the  qualities  of  success,  he  de- 
manded of  himself,  or  was  it  largely  chance? 


24  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

His  father  and  this  man  Northrop,  whom  he 
was  about  to  see,  provided  the  big  negro  con- 
sented to  hand  in  his  name  —  they  had  been 
together  at  their  little  college  in  southern  Indi- 
ana. His  father,  he  had  been  told,  was  the 
stronger  student  of  the  two ;  when,  out  of  col- 
lege, for  the  first  time  the  friends  met  in 
competition  —  over  a  girl  —  again  it  was  his 
father  who  had  won.  The  disappointment  had 
driven  young  Northrop  to  the  city  on  the  lake. 
Now  he  was  rich ;  he  was  married  too,  Jerome 
knew,  so  that  even  the  long  ago  trouble  was 
smoothed  out  of  his  mind.  Suppose  his 
mother,  Jerome  wondered,  had  chosen  Nor- 
throp instead  of  Kent ;  would  Kent  be  here,  in 
that  case,  known  of  all  men ;  would  it  be  Nor- 
throp who  would  be  sleeping  down  there  in 
Indiana,  under  ground  or  above,  it  mattered 
little?  The  automatic  Ethiopian  cut  across  his 
meditations ;  Jerome  awoke  to  be  ushered  into 
the  private  room  of  the  owner  of  the  Eagle. 

Northrop  rose  to  meet  him  and  shook  hands 
cordially. 

"  So  this  is  John  Kent's  son."  He  put  a 
thin  hand  on  Jerome's  shoulder.  "  You're  far 
bigger  than  your  father  was.  Well,  well !  Do 
you  remember  him?  " 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  25 

"  Pretty  well,  sir,"  Jerome  answered.  "  I 
was  nearly  eight  when  he  died." 

"And  now?" 

"lam  twenty-five." 

"  Twenty-five !  Don't  say  the  words  to  me, 
my  boy;  you  make  me  envious.  To  think  of 
being  twenty-five !  Well  —  I  have  your  moth- 
er's letter  here,  and  the  one  you  wrote  me  a 
few  days  ago  to  say  you  were  coming.  I  am 
glad  to  see  you  come.  Have  you  had  luncheon  ? 
Come  along  with  me."  He  rang  sharply,  two 
or  three  times,  although  the  echo  of  the  first 
sound  had  scarcely  died  away  before  the  at- 
tendant answered. 

"  Robert,  my  coat."  The  negro  produced  a 
heavy  garment;  thinking  of  the  sun  without, 
Jerome  stared.  But  Northrop  wrapped  his 
frail  body  in  its  folds  with  satisfaction.  He 
was  a  small  man,  white-haired,  bloodless  appar- 
ently; he  seemed  the  incarnation  of  the  ad- 
jective delicate.  Blue  veins  lay  in  tracery  upon 
his  hands  and  forehead  and  even  his  eyelids. 
When  they  went  out,  two  or  three  people  were 
still  waiting ;   a  woman  half  rose. 

"  I  shall  be  back  at  three,  Robert." 

"  But  Mr.  Northrop  —  "  she  began. 


26  THE  SECOND   GENERATION 

"  I  can't  see  you  now,  no,  not  now,"  he  re- 
turned irritably.  "  Well,  well  —  what  is  it, 
if  you  please?  Just  a  moment,  Kent."  He 
conferred  with  her  in  low  tones.  "  Yes,  yes," 
he  said  finally.  "  Very  worthy  object,  I  see.  I 
shall  send  you  a  check  this  afternoon.  Pardon 
my  rudeness;  I  am  very  tired."  He  smiled 
faintly. 

When  they  were  in  the  carriage,  Northrop 
leaned  back  wearily  and  closed  his  eyes.  "  I 
have  been  seeing  Tom,  Dick,  and  Ella — mostly 
Ella  —  this  morning  for  three  hours,"  he  apol- 
ogized. "  I  shouldn't  want  you  to  think  me 
rude.  But  these  good  women  are  so  persistent ! 
You  can  handle  a  man ;  but  a  good  woman  — 
what  can  you  do  but  listen  to  her  ?  "  They 
rattled  over  the  cobbles,  Northrop' s  delicate, 
tired  face  very  small  indeed,  muffled  in  his  over- 
coat and  cap.  When  the  carriage  stopped  he 
opened  his  eyes  once  more. 

"The  Athletic  Club,"  he  murmured.  "I 
half  hoped  it  would  be  that  to-day.  I  generally 
let  Julius  —  Julius  is  my  coachman  —  choose 
the  place  for  my  luncheon.  The  food  is  equally 
bad  everywhere." 

"  Now,"  he  said,  when  they  were  seated, 
"  suppose  you  tell  me  all  about  it." 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  2*] 

"About  it?" 

"  About  your  plans,  I  mean ;  what  you  would 
like  to  do.  You  spoke  in  your  letter  of  going 
to  work  on  the  Eagle;  are  you  still  of  that 
mind?" 

"  You  know,"  answered  Jerome,  "  I  have 
been  a  printer  all  my  life.  I  shouldn't  care  to 
throw  my  experience  away." 

Northrop  nodded.  "  But  a  weekly  in  the 
country  and  a  daily  in  the  city  are  two  very 
different  matters  —  as  different  as  diamond 
and  coal ;  as  different  as  a  book  and  a  machine. 
The  country  paper,  rightly  ordered,  is  a  person- 
ality; the  daily  is  only  a  business.  Do  you 
think  I  write  for  the  Eagle?  I  never  write  a 
line.  The  paper  is  mine,  because  I  oversee  it, 
but  it  is  only  a  business  enterprise.  There  is 
nothing  of  me  in  it." 

"  But  if  I  worked  on  it,"  began  Jerome. 

The  old  man  interrupted.  "  Would  you  set 
type?  You  would  have  to  forget  all  your  old 
methods  and  learn  the  ways  of  a  machine.  Or 
do  you  want  to  be  a  clerk  ?  I  have  a  hundred 
who  never  write  a  line  for  publication ;  I  doubt 
if  many  of  them  read  the  paper  they  are  work- 
ing for.    Out  of  all  the  employees  of  the  Eagle, 


28  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

how  many  do  you  suppose  ever  see  their  words 
in  print  ?  Two-thirds  ?  Half  ?  A  quarter  ?  I 
believe  a  tenth  would  be  nearer  —  the  reporters 
and  some  of  the  editors." 

"  It  was  as  a  reporter  I  meant  to  begin." 

"  But  what  experience  have  you  had  there? 
I  tell  you  the  work  is  wholly  different.  You 
must  turn  your  nights  into  days,  of  course; 
that  you  probably  know.  But  do  you  know 
that  you  must  become  conscienceless,  unscrupu- 
lous as  a  detective  ?  The  paper  must  have  the 
news,  or  the  public  will  cease  to  read  it.  There- 
fore you  must  supply  news ;  by  fair  and  honest 
means  when  you  can,  by  every  means  in  your 
power  sometimes.  You  must  violate  privacy 
and  confidence,  deny  yourself  the  luxury  of 
friends,  forget  your  own  soul  and  body.  A 
reporter  works  in  an  intellectual  sweatshop. 
What  experience  have  you  had  to  help  you  in 
that?  You  don't  even  know  the  names  of  the 
streets.  Were  you  brought  up  to  be  honest 
and  to  tell  the  truth  ?  You  will  not  find  report- 
ing a  help  in  either." 

Jerome  looked  blank.  "  But  why  —  "  He 
stopped. 

"  Why  do  I  employ  young  men  to  do  such 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  2g 

things?  That  was  to  be  your  question,  eh? 
I  must,  if  the  paper  is  to  succeed.  I  think  the 
paper  is  a  good  one  and  an  honest  one  on  the 
whole.  Besides,  if  I  give  it  up,  I  should  have 
no  grip  anywhere.  I  like  many  things,  I  dis- 
like many  others.  How  could  I  praise  one  and 
fight  the  other,  without  my  paper  to  help  me? 
But  I  don't  reason  about  it.  I  love  it."  He 
laughed,  and  Jerome,  glad  of  the  opportunity, 
laughed  also. 

"  Tell  me,"  demanded  Northrop,  abruptly, 
"  how  did  you  leave  Indiana  ?  Were  the  horse- 
chestnuts  out?  Could  you  smell  the  haw- 
thorn?" 

"  You  know  the  bend,  where  the  road  turns 
to  cross  Skinner's  Run,  just  south  of  town?  " 

Northrop  shook  his  head.  "  No.  I  have 
forgotten  all  my  geography.  But  I  can  smell 
the  hawthorn  still.    Is  there  any  left?  " 

"  I  walked  out  there  yesterday,"  Jerome  af- 
firmed. "  The  side  of  the  road  was  white  with 
it.    I  haven't  seen  so  much  for  a  long  time." 

"You  care  for  it,  then?  My  wife  doesn't 
like  it;  she  won't  let  me  have  it  in  the  house. 
But  sometimes  I  get  to  thinking  of  it,  and  the 
fragrance  comes  back  so  strongly  I  have  to  get 


30  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

up  and  look  round ;  I  think  she  has  put  some  in 
my  room  to  surprise  me.  But  I  can  never  find 
it.  How  long  since  you  strolled  along  in  the 
dark,  when  the  world  was  all  black,  and  sud- 
denly ran  upon  the  fragrance  of  a  bush  of  it  ?  " 

"  Three  days  ago,"  answered  Jerome. 

"  I  haven't  done  that  these  ten  years,"  Nor- 
throp returned  regretfully. 

When  the  waiter  had  brought  their  cigars, 
Northrop  settled  back  further  into  his  chair. 

"  I  have  been  doing  the  talking  while  you 
listened,"  he  said.  "  Now  suppose  you  tell  me 
something  about  yourself  —  no  more  than  you 
care,  of  course.  Don't  think  I'm  trying  to 
force  your  confidence.  But  we  must  be  friends, 
you  and  I.  How  long  since  your  mother  died, 
Jerome?  " 

"  Two  months,  sir.  It  came  very  suddenly 
after  she  wrote  you.  Your  letter  —  she  showed 
it  to  me.    It  helped  her  very  much,  she  said." 

Northrop  stirred  uneasily.  It  embarrassed 
him  to  be  caught  in  kindness.  "  Nothing, 
nothing,"  he  muttered.    "  Go  on,  my  boy." 

u  Well,  sir,  that's  about  all.  She  died,  and 
as  soon  as  I  could  sell  off  the  paper  I  came  up 
here." 


THE  SECOND  GENERATION  3 1 

"Did  it  sell  well ?" 

"  Fairly.  But  it  was  mortgaged,  of  course ; 
and  that  took  most." 

"  Have  you  any  money?  " 

"  Plenty,  sir,''  answered  Jerome,  flushing. 
He  had  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars  — 
and  his  trunk. 

Northrop  eyed  him. 

"  You  saw  the  letter  I  wrote  to  your  mother  ? 
I  said  I  would  see  that  you  had  what  I  could 
give  you.    Don't  you  think  I  meant  it?  " 

"  I  am  sure  you  did,  Mr.  Northrop,"  replied 
Jerome,  very  much  embarrassed. 

"  Yet  you  resent  my  questions  —  don't  you  ? 
Well,  never  mind.  Had  your  mother  ever 
spoken  of  me  before  she  wrote  ?  "  he  added 
abruptly. 

"  Often ;  yes,  sir." 

"What  did  she  say?"     ' 

Jerome  flushed  again.  He  was  torn  be- 
tween pride  and  a  desire  to  pour  himself  out  to 
some  one.  Should  he  put  himself  on  guard, 
try  to  parry  these  downright  thrusts ;  or  should 
he  meet  Northrop's  blunt  questions  with  a  blunt 
confidence?  He  thought  himself  a  fool  for 
hesitating.      He   had    never   in    his    life,    he 


32  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

thought,  met  a  more  kind-hearted  man  than 
this  frail,  white-haired,  curious  old  gentleman, 
who  decried  his  own  business  and  grew  wist- 
ful over  a  roadside  flower.  But  Jerome's  na- 
ture was  stiff,  hard  to  bend.  Sometimes  he 
found  himself  unwilling  —  no,  unable  is  the 
better  word  —  to  do  or  say  what  he  longed 
and  thought  wise  to  do  or  say.  So  now.  He 
remained  tongue-tied,  longing  to  open  his 
heart,  the  words  ready  to  his  lips,  but  dammed, 
it  seemed,  unalterably.  More  and  more  as  she 
grew  older,  his  mother  had  spoken  of  Nor- 
throp, rising  like  a  star  on  their  horizon.  She 
had  had  none  of  Jerome's  reticence  and  un- 
ease. She  told  him  everything  —  the  story  of 
his  father's  success  and  Northrop's  failure  in 
the  struggle  for  her  hand.  If  now  and  then, 
amidst  all  her  loyalty  to  her  dead  husband,  the 
least  note  of  regret  for  the  wide  life  she  had 
missed  when  she  made  her  choice  long  ago 
crept  into  her  voice,  was  it  unnatural?  But 
the  boy,  passionately  devoted  in  spirit  to  that 
ever  young  father  whose  death  he  remembered 
clearly,  heard  the  note  whenever  it  appeared; 
and  since,  loving  his  mother  too,  he  might  not 
turn  his  resentment  upon  her,  he  had  been  used 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  33 

to  fasten  it  upon  the  unconscious  Northrop.  It 
was  this  childish  feeling  that  now  rose  up  at 
Northrop' s  question  —  a  feeling  to  be  smiled 
at,  but  yet  not  easily  perhaps  to  be  smiled 
down.  While  they  sat,  conscious  each  of  their 
failure  to  meet  in  complete  accord,  a  man 
strolled  over  from  another  part  of  the  room. 
Northrop  introduced  Jerome  to  Judge  Hether- 
idge. 

"  How's  the  merry  war,  Henry  ?  "  Hether- 
idge  demanded.  He  was  a  bulky  man,  white- 
haired  like  Northrop,  but  with  a  red  face  and 
twinkling  eyes.  "  I'm  so  busy  nowadays  I 
can't  read  your  magazine,  Henry ;  I  only  have 
time  for  the  newspapers.  But  I  hear  you're  up 
to  your  old  tricks,  fighting  right  and  left  all 
proposals  for  a  steady  government.  It's  the 
gas  bill  now,  they  say.  There's  too  much  gas 
about  the  Eagle  altogether,  Henry."  He 
laughed  heartily. 

"  It's  lazy  men  like  you,  Judge,  that  make 
me  do  all  the  fighting.  If  you  would  only  live 
up  to  your  principles  now,  I  might  drop  back 
and  rest  awhile." 

"  My  only  principle,"  returned  Hetheridge, 
"  is  to  avoid  a  row  on  my  own  account.    The 


34  THE  SECOND  GENERATION 

good  God  knows  I  see  enough  of  other  people's 
to  teach  me  the  wisdom  of  quietness.  But  you 
are  a  '  scrapper/  Henry ;  you  can't  rest  unless 
your  club  is  banging  somebody,  the  bigger  the 
better.  Who  is  getting  it  now  —  it's  Wheeler 
again,  hey  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Northrop,  with  a  sudden 
return  to  weariness.  "  Wheeler  again.  Judge, 
if  you  can  only  get  that  man  comfortably  in- 
dicted, and  remove  him  safely  to  Joliet,  I  will 
promise  you  to  make  the  Eagle  2l  dove  —  until 
he  gets  out  again." 

"  Indict  him ?  On  what  charge,  for  choice?  " 
questioned  Hetheridge,  comfortably.  "  Shall 
we  make  it  murder,  or  arson,  or  assault  and 
battery  on  the  feelings  of  one  Henry  Nor- 
throp?" 

"  Any  charge,  any  charge,"  said  Northrop, 
irritably.  "  If  I  could  only  get  hold  of  the 
facts  in  this  gas-bill  business  we  would  make 
it  bribery." 

"  Ah,  Henry,"  the  Judge  answered,  getting 
up,  "  if  you  talk  to  me  like  that,  it  is  my  duty 
not  to  listen.  Besides,  my  cigar  is  smoked  out. 
Come  and  see  me,  young  man.  But  don't 
come  in  the  way  of  business."     He  chuckled 


THE  SECOND   GENERATION  35 

as  he  shook  hands.  "  You  understand  ?  I 
shall  deem  it  very  unfortunate  if  I  see  you  in 
business  hours." 

"  One  of  the  judges  of  the  criminal  court/' 
explained  Northrop. 

"  You  were  speaking  of  Wheeler,"  re- 
marked Jerome,  glad  of  the  interruption.  "  Is 
that  Christopher  Wheeler,  the  banker?  " 

"  Banker,  manipulator,  politician  —  every- 
thing but  honest  man,"  supplemented  Nor- 
throp. Yes,  that  is  Chris  Wheeler.  An 
Indiana  man  like  ourselves  —  did  you  know 
that?" 

Jerome  drew  a  long  breath.  "  It  was  partly 
on  his  account  that  I  came  to  Chicago,"  he 
confessed. 

Northrop  darted  a  look  at  him  so  keen,  so 
sudden,  that  Jerome  instinctively  drew  back 
as  from  a  blow.  "  What  has  Wheeler  to  do 
with  you  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  It  is  a  long  story,"  answered  Jerome. 
"  Did  you  ever  hear  how  my  father  died  ?  " 

Northrop  reflected.  "  Heart  disease,  wasn't 
it?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  But  do  you  know  what  brought 
on  the  final  collapse?  " 


36  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

Again  there  was  a  pause,  while  Northrop's 
eyes  turned  inward.     "  No,  I  never  knew." 

"  It  was  a  blow." 

"A  blow?" 

"  Yes,  sir.    From  Wheeler's  fist." 

The  other  bounded  in  his  chair.  The  frown- 
ing scrutiny  which  had  followed  Jerome's  in- 
troduction of  the  name  gave  place  to  complete, 
blank  surprise.     "Wheeler's?"  he  gasped. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"But —  how?" 

"  They  quarrelled  over  a  political  matter. 
Wheeler  was  instrumental  in  getting  through 
a  bill  to  charter  the  Consolidated  Oil  Company, 
which  was  just  then  entering  the  field.  He  had 
been  elected  to  keep  it  out  of  Indiana  if  he 
could.  My  father  charged  him  with  dishon- 
esty, and  Wheeler  knocked  him  down.  My 
father  never  got  over  the  shock.  He  died  in 
six  months." 

"  And  Wheeler  was  not  arrested  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  My  father  would  never  allow  it. 
He  had  curious  ideas  sometimes,  I  believe. 
And  after  he  died  —  there  were  no  witnesses. 
Of  course  people  talked.  But  Wheeler  had 
moved  to  Chicago  three  months  before  my 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  $J 

father's  death.  You  see  the  Consolidated  Oil 
Company  ruined  a  good  many  people,  and  he 
could  hardly  stay  in  Scannell  County  very 
comfortably.  Indeed,  I  suppose  he  would 
hardly  have  been  safe  there,  especially  after 
my  father  died." 

"Well,  sir?" 

Jerome  coloured.  "  It  will  seem  very  odd  to 
you,  I  know,"  he  admitted.  "  But  —  will  you 
look  at  that,  Mr.  Northrop?"  He  drew  from 
an  inner  pocket  an  old-fashioned,  yellow  leather 
case,  of  the  sort  which  in  some  parts  of  the 
United  States  is  called  a  wallet;  extracted  a 
folded  paper,  yellowish  also,  and  very  worn; 
and  handed  it  to  Northrop.  Opening  it,  the 
editor  saw  lines  of  faded  writing,  and  down 
below  a  scrawling  signature.  He  peered 
at  it,  fumbled  for  his  eye-glasses,  then 
handed  it  back.  "  Read  it,  please."  Jerome 
read. 

"  '  I  promise  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man  to 
devote  my  life  to  this  one  thing.  I  will  see  that 
Christopher  Wheeler  does  as  little  harm  in  the 
world  as  possible.'  That  is  my  signature  at 
the  end,"  he  went  on.  "I  was  nearly  eight 
years  old." 


38  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

"And  now?" 

"  It  was  eighteen  years  ago." 

"  That  is  a  curious  document  though.  In 
your  fathers  writing,  isn't  it?  Poor  John! 
And  you,"  he  turned  quickly,  "  what  have  you 
done?" 

Jerome  coloured  again.     "  Nothing." 

"Nothing!" 

"What  could  I  do?"  Jerome  demanded  in 
self-defence.  "  We  were  poor ;  I  could  never, 
even  when  I  grew  older,  leave  my  mother. 
And  besides,  she  was  always  opposed  even  to 
my  keeping  this.  It  was  the  only  thing  I  did 
habitually  that  was  contrary  to  her  wishes. 
She  wanted  me  to  destroy  it,  to  forget  it.  She 
thought  sometimes  that  my  father  was  —  not 
quite  right  in  his  head  when  he  died.  Maybe 
—  she  may  have  been  right.  She  thought  op- 
posing Wheeler  became  a  monomania  with  my 
father  in  those  last  six  months." 

"  It  may  well  be,"  Northrop  muttered. 
"  Sometimes  I  think  it  has  become  so  with  me. 

By  G d,"  he  added,  with  a  rare  profanity, 

"  it  shall  be  now !  You  know,"  he  went  on, 
"  what  Wheeler  is  up  to  at  present  ?  " 

"  I  thought  he  was  out  of  politics,"  Jerome 
said. 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  39 

"  So  he  is  —  in  a  way.  He  only  stirs  up  the 
slime  from  the  bank,  now.  In  another  way  he 
is  politics.  To-day  he  is  engaged  in  putting 
through  a  bill  to  allow  the  government  of  each 
city  of  100,000  population  in  the  state  to  deal 
individually  with  all  questions  of  franchise  for 
corporations.  He  is  very  heavily  interested  in 
gas,  here  in  Chicago.  The  franchises  of  the 
present  company  will  expire  in  two  years.  If 
he  can  get  his  bill  through,  it  means  millions 
to  him  —  millions !  for  he  can  easily  bribe  the 
council  to  give  him  his  own  terms  of  continu- 
ance. If  the  bill  fails,  he  is  still  a  very  rich 
man,  but  he  will  be  hard  hit.  It  will  be  diffi- 
cult for  him  to  make  good  terms  of  sale  for 
his  company,  impossible  to  extend  the  fran- 
chise. He  will  meet  competition  on  all  sides. 
So  you  understand  —  that  he  finds  it  essential 
to  secure  the  passage  of  his  bill."  Northrop's 
finely  veined  lids  drew  together.  "  I  find  it 
essential  to  prevent  him.  It  is  our  one  chance. 
If  we  can  beat  him  off  here,  we  may  force  him 
to  let  the  city  alone,  to  retire  on  what  he  has 
stolen  so  far.  If  not  —  there  is  no  hope  for  us. 
He  will  domineer  to  the  end;  he  will  suck  us 
dry." 


40  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

"  He  is  so  strong,  then?  " 

Northrop  nodded.  "  He  —  or  circum- 
stances. Sometimes  I  wonder  whether  luck 
has  not  always  been  with  him.  I  have  hopes 
of  its  turning,  you  see.  Indeed,  I  have  strong 
hopes  that  we  shall  prevent  the  passage  of  this 
bill.  But  that  will  not  satisfy  me.  I  should 
like  to  prove  him  a  felon.  If  I  could  only  get 
evidence !  Every  one  knows  he  bribes.  But  it 
is  impossible  to  convict  a  man  of  bribery,  in 
America.  They  want  evidence,  evidence. 
Bah!  When  I  smell  assafoetida,  I  don't  need 
to  see  the  body  to  know  that  a  skunk  has  been 
there.  So  you  have  come  up  here  to  fight 
Wheeler,"  he  ended. 

Jerome  smiled.  "  It's  a  big  contract,  isn't 
it?  And  besides  —  sometimes  —  "  He 
paused.  "  Mr.  Northrop,  the  Consolidated 
Oil  Company  has  been  a  very  good  thing  for 
the  state  of  Indiana." 

"  Pooh,  pooh !  "  answered  Northrop,  angrily. 

"  Yes,  sir.  It  has  brought  our  part  of  the 
state  up  with  a  run.  They  see  it,  even  down 
there,  now.  Wheeler  is  still  a  tradition  of 
evil,  but  they  admit,  sometimes,  that  he  was 
right  when  he  told  them  it  would  help  the 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  41 

state.  Is  it  possible  that  he  saw  farther  than 
my  father?  I  have  noticed  that  a  number  of 
the  bills  he  has  been  interested  in  have  turned 
out  well.     What  do  you  think?  " 

"  No  fault  of  his/'  snapped  the  old  man. 
"  But  yes  —  you  are  right.  He  has  had  won- 
derful luck;  and  he  plumes  himself  upon  it. 
But  it  is  the  way  he  secures  his  ends  that  dis- 
gusts me.  Always  evil;  at  best  they  are  evil 
that  good  may  come;  at  the  worst,  they  are 
unpardonably  devilish.  Corruption  and  brib- 
ery, bribery  and  corruption,  follow  him  always. 
So  you  don't  want  to  fight  him?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  responded  Jerome,  slowly. 
"  Only  —  I  should  like  to  know  just  what  he 
is,  and  just  what  is  best." 

Northrop  rose  hastily.  "  I  must  go,"  he 
said.  "  Come  along,  my  boy.  Did  you  ever 
read  the  story  of  Hamlet  ?  " 

"  Often." 

"  Read  it  again,  read  it  again.  But  at  any 
rate,"  he  continued,  when  they  were  safely  in 
the  carriage,  "  you  are  sure  you  want  to  be  a 
reporter?  Perhaps  it  is  as  well.  We  shall  see 
what  we  can  do  for  you.  Maybe  you  can  help 
against   Wheeler   sometimes;    that   ought  to 


42  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

please  you.  Unless,"  he  added,  sardonically, 
"  you  don't  think  it's  for  the  best." 

"  I  am  taking  you  home,"  he  went  on.  "  I 
want  you  to  meet  my  wife  and  Elsie.  You  will 
stay  with  us  —  for  a  time  at  least?  " 

But  Jerome  demurred.  "  I  have  my  own 
way  to  make,"  he  explained.  "  I  haven't  much 
money,  of  course.  You  are  too  good  to  me  as 
it  is.  And  I  think  I  had  better  begin  as  I  shall 
have  to  continue." 

Northrop  seemed  not  displeased.  "  Well, 
we  shall  see/'  he  assented.  "  Meanwhile  re- 
port to  McKinney  —  he  is  the  city  editor  — 
when  you  get  ready  for  work.  I  shall  inform 
him  who  you  are.  How  much  time  do  you 
want  to  get  settled  and  see  the  town  ?  " 

"  Twelve  hours  will  be  enough.  I  can  report 
to-morrow  afternoon,  I  think." 

"  As  you  please,  as  you  please,"  the  older 
man  replied.  "  Here  we  are.  I  shall  intro- 
duce you  and  then  run  off  again  to  the  office." 

Mrs.  Northrop  received  Jerome  cordially. 
She  was  a  small,  eager  woman,  vivacious, 
bright-eyed,  much  younger  than  her  husband 
in  appearance.  She  was  engaged,  she  declared, 
in  sorting  out  the  winter  things,  deciding  what 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  43 

to  put  away  for  the  next  year  and  what  to  give 
to  the  poor. 

"  It  is  very  difficult,"  she  asserted,  "  to  de- 
cide in  matters  of  that  kind  —  don't  you  think 
so,  Mr.  Kent?  Because  so  often  one  gives 
away  things  that  are  really  good,  you  know, 
and  then  one  is  sorry  afterward." 

"  Why  not  make  a  rule  to  give  away  only 
the  worthless  articles  ? "  suggested  her  hus- 
band. 

"Why,  Henry!"  she  protested.  "That 
would  hardly  be  charitable  —  would  it,  Mr. 
Kent?" 

"  Some  time  ago,"  observed  Mr.  Northrop, 
"  the  method  was  to  keep  the  best  and  give 
away  the  rest.  But  the  poor  have  grown  so 
discriminating  nowadays  that  one  must  reverse 
the  system  to  keep  one's  self-respect." 

"  Why,  Henry !  "  she  said  again.  Northrop 
seized  his  hat  —  he  had  not  removed  his  heavy 
coat.  "  Well,  I  must  go,"  he  declared. 
"  Where's  Elsie?    Oh,  here  she  is !  " 

A  young  girl,  rather  tall,  blue-eyed  like  her 
father,  came  into  the  room.  She  stooped  to 
kiss  him.  Jerome  saw  that  she  was  larger  than 
either  of  her  parents.    When  he  was  presented, 


44  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

she  said  nothing,  but  gave  him  her  hand 
quietly.  It  was  cool  and  firm  —  like  a  man's 
hand,  he  thought.  Suddenly  he  became  con- 
scious that  he  was  holding  it,  and  dropped  it, 
blushing.  She  did  not  seem  to  notice  his 
blush. 

"  Elsie  is  very  like  her  father,  don't  you 
think,  Mr.  Kent?"  her  mother  asked  when 
Northrop  was  gone.  She  stayed  not  for  an 
answer,  however.  "  But  she  is  much  stronger. 
She  is  very  strong;  I  think  she  could  stand 
even  a  Chicago  summer,  and  you  know  how 
terrible  they  are." 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  Mr.  Kent  is  inter- 
ested in  bulletins  of  my  health,  mamma,"  ob- 
served Elsie. 

"Oh,  yes  —  very  much,"  he  declared 
quickly,  wishing  immediately  afterward  that 
he  had  held  his  tongue.  But  Mrs.  Northrop, 
being  now  launched,  sailed  on  serenely,  heed- 
less of  small  cross-currents. 

"  We  generally  go  east  for  the  summer  — 
to  Long  Branch,  or  to  Europe.  I  think  some 
time  in  Europe  is  very  necessary  for  a  young 
girl,  don't  you?  I  don't  like  travelling;  but  of 
course,  where  one  has  one's  duty  —  you  know 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  45 

what  I  mean  ?  One  summer  we  went  to  Colo- 
rado on  some  fancy  of  Mr.  Northrop's  —  I 
think  it  was  that  we  should  know  our  own 
country.  As  if  one  could  know  it  all  — or 
wanted  to!  It  would  be  like  knowing  every- 
body on  the  street,  don't  you  think?  The  un- 
pleasant people  as  well  as  the  nice  ones.  I 
would  rather  choose  the  best  and  stick  to  that 
—  wouldn't  you  ?  But  Mr.  Northrop  has  odd 
ideas.  He  never  goes  with  us,  you  know ;  he 
prefers  to  stay  in  town  and  work,  and  then 
spend  his  Sundays  at  Lake  Forest.  We  have 
a  place  there,  you  know ;  oh,  only  a  little  one. 
But  he  is  very  fond  of  it.  I  used  to  like  it 
years  ago.  But  Lake  Forest  is  common  ground 
now;  everybody  goes  there,  you  know.  One 
might  as  well  stay  in  the  city,  almost  —  don't 
you  think  so,  Mr.  Kent  ?  " 

Elsie  sat  quietly,  her  hands  in  her  lap.  Je- 
rome thought  he  had  never  seen  any  one  so 
calm.  She  seemed  almost  to  exhale  the  chill 
of  marble.  He  wondered  whether  she  resented 
her  mother's  loquacity,  which  amused  him  and 
pleased  him  at  the  same  time,  since  it  relieved 
him  of  the  necessity  of  conversing.  As  he 
looked  about  the  room,  the  contrast  inevitably 


46  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

presented  itself  between  this  and  his  mother's 
one-storied  rambling  white  house  on  the  edge 
of  the  Indiana  village  —  the  house  that  was  his 
no  longer.  Both  houses  were  clambered  over 
by  vines;  but  there  the  resemblance  closed. 
The  vines  on  the  Kent  cottage  were  morning- 
glories,  unregulated,  profuse,  now  shot  with 
flaring  bells  of  purple,  crimson,  and  white,  now 
raggedly  trailing  off  in  their  green  streamers. 
Here  the  vines  were  ivy,  carefully  tended,  thick 
and  close;  ivy  that  grew  all  the  year  round,  he 
fancied,  as  Dickens's  ivy  did.  These  were  the 
vines  of  elegance.  And  the  room  itself  — 
large,  white-and-gold,  emitting  an  atmosphere 
of  costliness ;  Jerome  was  connoisseur  enough 
to  guess  that  the  spindling  chairs  in  this  room 
alone  were  worth  more  than  all  their  furniture. 
This  house,  with  its  fineness,  its  richness,  its 
comfort;  the  coachman,  the  butler  who  had 
awed  him  at  the  door,  the  man  who  brought  the 
tea  —  they  might  all  have  been  his  mother's, 
had  she  willed  to  marry  Northrop.  Would  she 
have  willed  so  had  she  known?  And  in  that 
case  where  would  this  little,  elegant,  bustling 
woman  who  was  just  then  telling  him  of  the 
hotel  in  Florence,  on  the  Lung'  Arno,  in  which 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  47 

they  had  passed  a  winter  amidst  the  glories  of 
the  Renaissance  —  a  hotel  which  actually  had 
hot  running  water,  and  a  lift  that  would  take 
you  down  as  well  as  up  —  where  would  this 
unconscious  little  woman  be?  And  the  girl 
opposite  him;  and  he  himself?  At  this  point 
in  his  wonderings  he  laughed. 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you  there  was  nothing  funny 
about  it  —  not  in  the  least,"  she  smiled  at  him 
brightly.  "  We  hadn't  the  least  idea  where  we 
were  —  not  the  least  in  the  world ;  and  the 
courier  of  course  had  always  done  the  talking, 
so  we  didn't  know  a  word  of  Italian.  It's  very 
foolish  to  learn  so  many  languages,  don't  you 
think  so?  Because  here  in  America  one  has 
no  chance  to  practise  them.  Oh,  French,  of 
course  everybody  should  know  French,  don't 
you  think  so  ?  But  as  I  was  saying  —  "  She 
went  on  to  tell  of  her  Florentine  adventure, 
which  threatened  tragic  things,  but  which 
ended  when  Elsie,  her  attention  being  called 
to  the  situation  by  her  distracted  mother, 
had  had  the  brilliant  idea  of  summoning  a  car- 
riage and  telling  the  driver  the  name  of  their 
hotel ;  to  which  he  promptly  conveyed  them  in 
safety.    "  But  I  never  should  have  thought  of 


48  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

that  in  the  world,"  Mrs.  Northrop  insisted. 
Meanwhile,  again  Jerome  congratulated  him- 
self that  his  discourteous  thoughts  had  not 
been  noticed,  and  determined  to  pay  strict  at- 
tention for  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon.  He 
could  not  help  wondering,  however,  whether 
the  daughter  had  seen  his  embarrassment.  But 
she  gave  no  sign.  He  was  still  wondering 
when  they  delivered  him  into  the  hands  of  a 
servant,  who  showed  him  the  room  in  which 
he  was  to  prepare  himself  for  dinner. 

"  Only  come  down  whenever  you  are  ready," 
she  added.     "  I  think  you  will  like  the  library 

—  don't  you  think  Mr.  Kent  will  like  the 
library,  Elsie?  " 

The  room  into  which  he  was  shown  inter- 
ested him  so  much  that  time  passed  without 
his  being  aware.  That  it  was  a  guest-chamber 
he  could  scarcely  believe,  for  the  walls  were 
hung  with  engravings  and  one  copy  —  in  oil 

—  of  a  Puvis  de  Chavannes;  and  the  books 
were  neither  uncut,  shabby,  nor  uninteresting. 
He  picked  out  at  random  a  thin  volume  of 
Maeterlinck,  and  read  it,  standing  by  the  win- 
dow, until  the  light  failed  him.  Then  suddenly 
he*became  conscious  that  it  was  late,  and  he 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  49 

washed  himself  hurriedly,  resuming  perforce 
the  same  collar  and  tie,  but  wishing  he  had 
brought  another  in  his  pocket.  He  scarcely 
liked  to  venture  into  the  hallway,  for  he  had 
no  idea  where  the  "  library "  was  placed. 
Therefore  he  sat  down  to  wait  until  he  was 
called.  He  would  have  turned  on  the  electric 
light,  but  he  was  unable  to  discover  the  button. 
So  he  sat  in  the  twilight  until  some  one  knocked 
and  he  followed  the  footman  obediently  to 
dinner. 

He  had  expected  that  in  such  a  house  the 
family  would  dine  in  evening  dress,  he  told 
himself;  still  his  own  comparative  unconven- 
tionality  intruded  itself  suddenly  when  he  was 
seated  opposite  Elsie.  To  his  mind  she  and 
her  mother  were  gowned  as  for  a  grand  ball; 
and  Northrop  looked  more  finely  cut,  more 
delicate,  more  patrician  than  ever  in  his  careful 
evening  clothes.  For  a  moment  Jerome,  in  in- 
voluntary resentment,  reminded  himself  that 
this  man,  like  himself,  was  born  in  a  small, 
straggling  Indiana  town ;  that  at  his  own  age, 
indeed,  this  man  had  probably  never  seen  a  city 
of  thirty  thousand  people,  and  certainly  had 
never  heard  of  the  contemporary  Maeterlincks, 


50  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

or  Puvis  de  Chavanne's!  But  two  minutes  of 
Northrop's  company  made  him  forget  all  that. 

"  I  have  been  reading  Maeterlinck,"  he  con- 
fessed, when  they  had  proceeded  some  way 
into  the  dinner.  "  I  found  a  book  of  his  in 
my  room." 

"  You  poor  boy !  "  cried  Mrs.  Northrop,  sym- 
pathetically. "  Was  that  all  you  had  there  ? 
I  shall  tell  Julius  to-morrow  to  see  that  some- 
thing good  is  put  in  that  room." 

"  No,  no,"  Jerome  protested.  "  There  were 
other  books.  But  I  had  heard  of  him,  and  I 
was  very  much  interested.  He  is  remarkable, 
don't  you  think  so  ?  I  was  reading  the  '  Hazard 
of  New  Fortunes '  in  the  train  last  night. 
That  is  remarkable  too.  It  comforts  one,  it 
seems  to  me,  to  think  sometimes  that  we  needn't 
all  be  remarkable  in  the  same  way." 

"  Did  Maeterlinck  write  the  '  Hazard  of  New 
Fortunes  '  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Northrop.  "  I  always 
thought  Henry  James  wrote  that." 

There  was  a  slight  pause,  very  much  embar- 
rassed on  Jerome's  part.  Elsie  was  serene, 
Northrop  quiet. 

"  I  believe  it  was  written  by  Mr.  Howells," 
Jerome  said  finally.  "  But  possibly  it  was 
James." 


THE  SECOND   GENERATION  5 1 

"  Oh,  no,"  cried  Mrs.  Northrop  again,  gayly. 
"  I  meant  Howells,  of  course.  But  I  never  can 
remember  which  is  which,  you  know." 

"  At  school,"  added  Elsie,  suddenly,  "  Miss 
Wayland  had  an  idea  that  Maeterlinck  was  a 
Frenchman,  and  so  she  forbade  us  to  read  him. 
He  was  very  popular  then.  But  I  think  he  has 
gone  out  now."  She  relapsed  again  into  si- 
lence and  Jerome  was  again  puzzled.  Was  she 
serious,  or  laughing  at  them  all  ?  He  planned, 
if  he  had  opportunity,  to  study  her,  and  put 
her  in  his  story,  provided  she  was  really  not  so 
simple  as  at  first  sight  she  seemed.  He  lay 
awake  that  night  for  some  time,  thinking  out 
the  events  of  the  day,  and  wondering  whether 
he  should  ever  get  leisure  any  more  to  work 
upon  his  novel.  In  the  morning  he  opened  his 
eyes  upon  a  new  life. 


CHAPTER  II 

Jerome  regarded  with  a  half  proprietary  in- 
terest the  Eagle  office.  The  swinging  door  let 
him  into  a  scene  of  commerce,  of  finance,  of 
anything  but  the  business  of  a  newspaper. 
High  desks  stood  all  about,  fenced  by  gratings 
and  frosted  glass.  At  this  hour,  just  after 
midday,  most  of  them  were  untenanted ;  but  a 
few  clerks  still  busied  themselves  with  ledgers 
or  long  files.    Jerome  said  to  one :  — 

"  I  should  like  to  see  Mr.  McKinney." 

"  Don't  know  him,"  answered  the  clerk, 
with  an  accent,  neither  polite  nor  wholly  im- 
polite, which  might  be  called  American. 

"  He  is  the  city  editor." 

"  Sixth  floor,  then,"  replied  the  clerk,  look- 
ing up.  "  This  is  the  business  office.  You 
want  the  editorial  rooms." 

At  the  sixth  floor  the  attendant,  blonde, 
plainly  a  Swede,  but  at  one  with  the  clerk  in 
that  touch-me-not  air  so  pervasive  of  our  whole 
5* 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  53 

life  of  trade,  from  the  captain  of  industry  to  the 
least  private,  jerked  out  a  further  direction, 
"631  —  third  right."  631  proved  to  be  a  kind 
of  main  entrance,  or  hallway  —  a  long  room 
lined  with  stalls  in  frosted  glass.  On  the  slid- 
ing door  of  each  stall  was  a  number  and  a  title 
in  black  —  634,  City  Editor;  635,  Copy  Read- 
ers ;  636,  Sporting  Editor,  and  so  on.  Beyond 
lay  another  room,  larger,  apparently  empty. 
The  city  editor's  stall  was  empty  also ;  so  were 
they  all.  Presently,  however,  as  he  stood  uncer- 
tainly, two  men  emerged  from  the  room  beyond. 

"  Yes,  pretty  good,"  one  continued,  a  stout 
slouchy  man  in  shirtsleeves.  His  voice  came 
indistinctly  around  an  unlit  cigar,  which  he 
chewed  and  flirted  from  side  to  side  as  he 
talked. 

"Well,  how  much?"  demanded  the  other 
man  in  a  tone  of  satisfaction. 

"  Oh,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,  Donahue,  — 
a  stickful,  maybe  two  sticks." 

"  I've  been  out  on  it  all  morning,"  grumbled 
Donahue,  a  thin-faced,  sandy-haired,  unpleas- 
antly sallow  Irishman. 

"  Make  it  three  hundred  words  then,"  an- 
swered the  stout  man,  impatiently. 


54  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

"  And  have  you  cut  the  liver  out  of  it,  hey?  " 
Donahue  retired  sourly  to  the  back  room, 
whence  came  presently  the  intermittent  clatter 
of  a  typewriter.  The  fat  man  retired  into  the 
den  marked  City  Editor,  without  seeming  to 
notice  Jerome.  Through  an  open  door  Jerome 
could  see  him  savagely  cutting  and  mangling, 
with  a  sweeping  pair  of  shears,  a  pile  of  news- 
papers that  lay  upon  the  desk.  He  was  really 
finishing  the  important  part  of  his  day's  work, 
though  Jerome  did  not  know  it;  extracting 
from  the  morning  issues  of  all  the  city  papers 
such  matter  as  seemed  to  him  worth  devoting 
the  further  attention  of  some  reporter  to. 
After  some  time,  as  he  still  continued  without 
cessation  to  read  and  cut,  Jerome  ventured  to 
interrupt  him. 

"Is  this  the  city  editor?" 
"  Yes ;  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 
"  My  name  is  Kent.    I  was  told  by  Mr.  Nor- 
throp to  report  to  you  at  noon  to-day." 

"  Oh  —  you're  the  man."  The  city  editor 
looked  Jerome  over,  tilting  his  cigar  against 
the  point  of  his  nose.  "  Ever  work  on  a  paper  ? 
I  suppose  not." 

"  I'm   a   printer,"    Jerome   answered    cau- 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  55 

tiously.  "  But/'  he  added,  "  I've  never  worked 
on  a  daily." 

"  Eau  Claire,  Keokuk,  Sandwich,  or  Ko- 
komo?" 

u  I  beg  your  pardon  ?  " 

"  Where  are  you  from?  "  translated  the  city 
editor. 

"  Scannell  County,  Indiana." 

"  So?  I've  been  there  myself.  I  went  to 
school  at  Valparaiso.  When  the  boys  here 
can't  get  a  fake  past  me  they  tell  me  I  was  born 
in  Kansas,  raised  in  Indiana,  and  live  in  En- 
glewood.  They  think  I'm  a  Reuben  —  fatally 
Reuben.    Do  you  know  Chicago?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Well,  go  in  and  sit  down.  I'll  give  you 
an  assignment  presently." 

With  no  more  formality  Kent  found  himself 
a  member  of  the  staff  of  the  Eagle.  Mr.  Mc- 
Kinney  fell  once  more  to  clipping  newspapers, 
and  Jerome  retired  to  the  back  room,  where 
the  sallow  Donahue  was  still  hammering  the 
groaning  typewriter. 

The  door  of  this  apartment  bore  the  single 
word  "  Reporters."  The  room  was  square, 
and  of  good  size.     Around  three  sides  ran  a 


56  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

ledge  or  bench,  some  three  feet  high,  littered 
with  coarse  paper,  and  occupied  every  two 
yards  by  a  typewriting  machine.  On  the  fourth 
side,  on  either  hand  of  the  door,  stood  two  huge 
oblong  pine  tables.  Light  wooden  chairs  lay 
promiscuously  about,  more  paper  littered  the 
floor  and  filled  several  large  waste-baskets,  and 
over  each  machine  a  bulbous  electric  light  dan- 
gled from  a  cord,  like  a  fat  spider.  Three  or 
four  notices  posted  on  the  walls,  and  a  certain 
complement  of  spittoons,  completed  the  furni- 
ture of  the  room.  The  streaming  sun  added  to 
the  untidiness  of  the  place. 

For  lack  of  other  entertainment  Jerome  fell 
to  examining  the  notices.  The  largest,  in  de- 
fiant type,  prohibited  smoking,  in  smaller  letters 
apologetically  laying  the  blame  upon  an  insur- 
ance company.  Another,  headed  "  Days  off," 
much  mutilated  and  changed,  gave  a  list  of  the 
reporters,  with  the  day  of  the  week  assigned  to 
each  as  vacation.  A  third,  which  Jerome,  after 
reading,  copied  for  his  own  pleasure,  contained 
"Rules." 

1.  Do  not  use  the  awkward  expression  "  as 
though."    Say  "as  if." 

2.  Do  not  spit  on  the  floor.     (To  this  was 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  57 

added,    in    pencil,    "  Reserved    for    the    City 
Editor.") 

3.  The  Eagle  spells  it  tho. 

4.  December  12,  not  December  12th. 
While  Jerome  was  still  copying,  Donahue 

looked  up. 

"  New  man  ?  "  he  remarked. 

"  I  hope  so,"  Jerome  replied. 

"Humph!    Got  a  chew?" 

"  Of  tobacco  ?  "  inquired  Jerome.  Donahue 
favoured  him  with  a  long  stare  and  a  grin. 

"  No,  gum,"  he  answered  finally.  "  Never 
mind.    Where' d  you  work  before?  " 

"  Nowhere,"  answered  Jerome,  peacefully. 
He  wondered  if  Donahue  was  the  final  bloom 
of  that  evolutionary  process  technically  known 
as  "  turning  reporter."  The  Irishman's  next 
words  seemed  conclusive. 

"  I've  worked  on  every  paper  in  town,"  he 
boasted.  "  When  I  get  tired  here,  I  slide  over 
to  the  Star.  They  all  know  me.  I  can  get  a 
job  anywhere."  He  picked  up  his  manuscript 
and  rose.  "  You  look  like  you'd  make  a  good 
reporter ;  look  as  if  you  had  nerve.  That's  all 
it  takes  —  just  nerve.  You  go  up  to  a  man 
and  beg  of  him  and  he'll  throw  you  down  every 


58  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

time;  laugh  at  you.  But  you  go  in  and  say, 
*  Look  here,  old  boy,  here's  something  I've  got 
to  have,  see  ?  '  Just  bluff  right  up  to  him,  see  ? 
and  you'll  get  him  all  right,  all  right.  That's  a 
tip.  Oh,  you'll  do  all  right.  All  you  want  is 
somebody  to  put  you  on."  The  reporter  threw 
out  his  thin  chest.  Plainly,  he  considered 
himself  "  on."  On  what?  Life  as  a  reporter 
began  to  seem  less  agreeable.  Donahue 
started  out ;  then,  struck  by  a  sudden  idea,  re- 
turned. 

"  Say,"  he  remarked  confidentially,  "  to- 
morrow's pay-day,  and  of  course  I'm  broke  this 
afternoon.    Lend  me  a  quarter,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Wouldn't  a  dollar  do  as  well?  "  questioned 
Jerome. 

"Why,  sure!" 

"  Or  five  cents?  "  pursued  Jerome  placidly. 

Donahue  threw  him  an  ugly  look.  "  Oh, 
hell !  "  he  replied,  leaving  the  room. 

Presently  other  reporters  began  coming  in. 
One  or  two  glanced  at  him,  but  most  seemed  to 
ignore  him.  The  chief  impression  he  gained 
from  watching  them  was  that  they  were  an 
untidy  lot.  Presently  a  demoniac  shriek 
whistled  through  the  room.     Jerome  started, 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  59 

but  a  man  stepped  very  calmly  to  one  of  the 
pine  tables,  and  picked  up  a  tube  that  lay  upon 
it.     "Well?" 

"  Harmon,"  came  a  sepulchral  voice. 

"  Harmon,  you're  wanted,"  said  the  reporter 
at  the  tube,  turning  away.  One  of  the  older 
men  passed  out. 

Of  those  who  remained,  some  read  news- 
papers—  usually  the  Eagle,  Jerome  observed 
—  now  and  then  cutting  out  a  fragment  and 
stuffing  the  remainder  in  a  waste-basket. 
Others  pecked  at  the  keys  of  the  writing  ma- 
chines. The  rest  talked  in  low  voices.  Every- 
thing they  discussed  fell  under  two  heads  — 
newspaper  "  shop,"  i.e.  business ;  or  news 
of  some  kind  of  sport.  Nobody  in  the  room 
looked  over  thirty,  few  over  twenty-five.  Je- 
rome felt  an  access  of  years  as  he  watched 
them.  He  wondered  if  all  reporters  were  very 
young  men,  concluding  (erroneously)  that  as 
they  aged  they  must  be  appointed  to  editorial 
positions.  Meanwhile  the  tubes  shrieked  inter- 
mittently, and  the  group  of  a  dozen  or  four- 
teen rapidly  lessened.  After  some  time  Jerome 
found  himself  alone.  He  looked  at  his  watch ; 
it  was  a  quarter  to  two.  He  wondered  if  he  was 


6o  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

forgotten.  The  wild  scream  cut  into  the  silence 
of  the  room  once  more,  and  he  advanced,  laugh- 
ing at  his  own  trepidation,  to  pick  the  tube  up. 
"Well?"  "Kent,"  said  a  voice,  before  he 
could  put  the  tube  to  his  ear.  He  dropped  it 
and  hurried  out  to  the  city  editor's  stall.  The 
city  editor,  as  before,  was  chewing  an  unlit 
cigar.  From  its  damp  and  battered  appearance, 
Jerome  judged  it  the  same  cigar. 

"  Now,"  the  fat  man  declared,  without  look- 
ing up,  "  I've  got  just  the  assignment  for  you." 
His  voice  was  soothing  and  cordial.  "  I  want 
you  to  go  up  to  the  John  Kocynski  School  and 
find  out  about  an  entertainment  they're  going 
to  give  to-morrow  night.  Look  it  up  carefully ; 
don't  forget  the  details,  or  you'll  have  to  go 
back.  Imagine  yourself  one  of  those  Polacks 
up  there,  and  find  out  what  you'd  want  to  know 
in  that  case.  We've  got  a  big  circulation  in 
that  district,  and  they  like  to  see  themselves 
noticed.  You  said  you  didn't  know  your  way 
about  the  town  ?  " 

"  I  can  find  it." 

"  Here."  McKinney  showed  him  a  large 
map  on  the  wall.  "  The  school  is  at  the  corner 
of  Lena  and  McArthur,  out  Humboldt  Park 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  6l 

way."  He  traced  a  possible  course  with  a 
stubby  forefinger,  the  nail  in  deep  mourning. 
"  Take  the  Elston  Avenue  car  and  get  off  at 
McArthur.  I'll  give  you  car  tickets."  He 
tore  off  a  few  from  a  strip  like  a  bicycle  chain. 
"  Better  take  four.  Now  get  along,  and  be  back 
as  soon  as  you  can."  McKinney's  manner  was 
paternal. 

Jerome  went  out  on  his  first  assignment,  in 
ignorance  how  to  get  the  news,  but  determined 
not  to  return  until  he  had  it.  After  some  in- 
quiry he  found  the  Elston  Avenue  car,  and 
inquired  for  McArthur  Street.  Yes,  they 
passed  it.  How  soon  ?  In  about  half  an  hour, 
said  the  conductor,  jerking  the  bell.  They 
bumped  and  clattered  slowly  through  the  busi- 
ness district.  Once  over  the  river,  they  pro- 
ceeded faster  and  more  smoothly.  They  sped 
past  blocks  and  blocks  where,  among  the  innu- 
merable signs,  never  a  name  of  Anglo-Saxon 
origin  rewarded  the  seeker's  eye.  Crossing 
the  North  Branch,  they  trailed  rapidly  among 
yards  of  coal  and  lumber;  thence  emerged 
again  into  another  region  of  small  shops,  whose 
cheap  goods  overflowed  everywhere  out  upon 
the    sidewalks;     then    clanged    and    spurted 


62  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

through  a  stretch  of  tawdry  flats,  most  of  them 
with  high  basements  and  unsteady  stairways 
crawling  up  to  the  front  door.  Leaving  these 
in  turn  behind,  they  darted  boldly  out  into 
wide  spaces,  where  forlorn  signs  stood  alone 
—  "  For  Sale.  Apply  to  John  Blank."  They 
stopped  infrequently.  At  last  the  conductor 
turned  to  Jerome,  who  had  for  some  time  been 
straining  his  eyes  in  the  attempt  to  discern 
somewhere  McArthur  Street. 

"  McArthur  next." 

The  car  slowed;  Jerome  swung  off;  in  a 
moment  the  rocking  electric  chariot  was  spin- 
ning twenty  miles  an  hour  along  the  rails.  Je- 
rome felt  unreasonably  lonely  as  he  watched  it 
depart. 

Lena  Street  he  knew  lay  to  the  west.  He 
strode  off  along  the  sidewalk,  which  here  ran 
on  stilts  eight  feet  above  the  ground.  Prime- 
val prairie  seemed  to  lie  about  him  —  a  vast 
acreage  of  weeds.  Yet  in  five  minutes'  walk 
he  found  himself  among  numerous  houses. 
Another  square,  and  he  came  upon  a  big,  ob- 
long, red-brick,  tomblike  structure,  picked  out 
with  white.  A  gravelled  yard  surrounded  as 
much  of  it  as  he  could  see.    A  glance  at  the 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  63 

lamp-post  confirmed  his  suspicion  that  he  had 
reached  Lena  Street  and  the  John  Kocynski 
School. 

He  entered  the  bare,  empty  hall,  and  after  a 
few  minutes'  hesitation  knocked  at  one  of  the 
doors.  It  opened.  A  glimpse  of  fifty  small 
faces  —  fifty  pairs  of  eyes  levelled  at  his  — 
then  he  confronted  the  teacher.  She  was  Jew- 
ish and  quite  pretty. 

"  You  should  see  the  principal,"  she  an- 
swered, when  Jerome  had  put  the  case  to  her. 
"  He  will  be  glad  to  tell  you.  I  will  take  you 
there."  She  looked  at  Jerome  sidewise,  and 
led  the  way  upstairs,  dilatory,  questioning  him 
on  each  step.  He  was  a  relief  in  the  slow  day. 
Besides,  he  had  looked  at  her  with  approval. 
She  left  him  at  the  second  floor,  after  pointing 
out  the  right  office. 

"Just  wait  till  I  go  down,  will  you?"  she 
asked.  "  He  doesn't  like  us  to  leave  our 
rooms."  She  tripped  down,  looking  back  at 
him  over  her  shoulder.  He  remembered  her 
face  —  dark,  coquettish,  with  a  little  scar  over 
one  eye,  like  a  heart. 

The  principal  gladly  furnished  all  the  details 
Jerome  asked  for.    He  said  it  was  very  kind  of 


64  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

the  Eagle  to  inquire.  He  himself  read  the 
Eagle  always;  yes,  always.  He  was  dark- 
haired,  a  foreigner  of  some  kind,  probably  a 
Pole.  Just  a  trace  of  some  native  accent  re- 
mained in  his  voice.  There  was  one  slight  mis- 
take, he  said ;  the  entertainment  was  yesterday 
evening,  not  to-morrow.  "  Be  sure,"  he  said, 
"  to  put  that  right  —  yesterday."  He  himself 
had  made  a  little  talk,  had  said  thus  and  so. 
Jerome  soon  felt  himself  master  of  every  detail 
in  connection  with  the  event. 

The  pretty  Jewess  awaited  him  in  the  lower 
hall.  "Did  you  get  what  you  wanted?"  she 
inquired  pleasantly. 

•  Yes,  thank  you." 

"  It's  a  long  way  up  here,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  rather  far." 

"  I  live  much  nearer  town  —  on  West  Ad- 
ams, 7777  is  the  number  —  four  sevens." 

"  Miss  Goldberg !  "  The  principal's  voice, 
menacing,  came  over  the  banisters.  Miss 
Goldberg  jumped  and  retreated  to  her  room, 
not  without  a  backward  look.  Jerome  went 
away  smiling.  While  he  waited  for  the  car 
that  should  return  him  to  the  office,  he  saw 
afar  off  the  Kocynski  School  disgorging  its 


THE  SECOND   GENERATION  65 

pupils.  He  looked  at  his  watch;  it  was  half- 
past  three. 

The  city  editor,  refreshed  by  a  clean  cigar, 
greeted  him  pleasantly. 

"Well,  what'd  you  find?  " 

Jerome  described  the  entertainment  graph- 
ically. 

"  Two  sticks,"  interrupted  McKinney. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Jerome,  turning,  "  the 
entertainment  was  last  night,  not  to-morrow." 

"Why  didn't  you  say  so?"  answered  the 
city  editor.     "  Never  mind,  then." 

"What  shall  I  do?" 

"  Nothing.  Well  —  write  out  an  announce- 
ment—  twenty  words." 

Those  twenty  words  took  Jerome  as  many 
minutes.  When  he  brought  them  in  he  laid 
down  also  two  car  tickets.  "  I  didn't  use 
these,"  he  remarked. 

McKinney  struggled  with  himself.  His 
wide  blue  eyes  seemed  brimming  over  with  a 
stare.  "  That's  right,"  he  said  finally,  "  always 
return  what  you  don't  use.  By  the  way,"  he 
added,  "  this  is  script.  You  must  learn  the 
typewriter.  Go  in  and  practise  now,  till  din- 
ner time.    Come  back  after  dinner." 


66  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

Jerome  practised,  went  out  to  dine  —  on 
two  sandwiches  and  a  cup  of  coffee ;  ten  cents 
—  and  returned.  There  was,  however,  no  as- 
signment for  him  that  evening,  and  at  half-past 
nine  the  night  city  editor  told  him  he  might  as 
well  go  home.  Next  morning  he  eagerly 
searched  for  the  "  story  "  of  the  afternoon  be- 
fore. He  found  it  at  last  —  the  first  item  under 
the  column  "  City  Happenings."  Here  is  his 
day's  work  in  print :  — 

"  The  pupils  of  the  John  Kocynski  School, 
Lena  and  McArthur  streets,  gave  their  annual 
concert  on  Tuesday  evening." 

Now  Jerome  received  sometimes  one  assign- 
ment a  day,  sometimes  two.  They  led  him  into 
all  quarters  of  the  city.  He  learned  where 
Maxwell  Street  is;  that  Emerald  Avenue  is 
not  named  for  the  greenness  of  its  grass  and 
trees;  that  not  all  Chicago  boulevards  are  as- 
phalted. One  day  he  passed,  by  pure  chance, 
yyyy  West  Adams  Street,  and  laughed  over 
the  naivete  which  conducts  social  forms  among 
some  of  us.  One  day  he  was  sent  to  see  a 
doctor,  who  wished  to  air  a  grievance  against 
the  County  Hospital ;  but  it  turned  out  to  be  a 
matter  of  dollars  and  cents,   and  the  Eagle 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  67 

would  not  print  it.  One  day  he  "  followed  up  " 
the  "  City  Press  "  account  of  a  small  fight  in  an 
outlying  saloon,  McKinney  fancying  the  sur- 
roundings might  give  opportunity  for  a  "  de- 
scriptive story  "  —  might  be  effectively  treated 
as  a  bit  of  local  life.  The  saloon,  lonely,  a 
wooden  building,  surrounded  by  wide  vacant 
lots,  interested  Jerome,  but  McKinney  said, 
when  he  heard  what  it  was  like,  "  Thousands 
of  'em.  No  good."  One  day  he  went  into  the 
suburbs,  on  a  "  tip  "  that  a  farmer  near  Wash- 
ington Heights  had  discovered  oil  in  his  barn- 
yard. The  rumour  was  true ;  but  unfortunately 
for  Jerome  it  was  spread  abroad  in  the  early 
morning,  so  that  the  afternoon  papers  of  the 
same  day,  discussing  the  event  fully,  killed  his 
story.  On  Sunday  Jerome  collected  and  pasted 
end  to  end  all  the  items  he  had  printed.  The 
brevity  of  the  string  dashed  him.  His  pay, 
they  said,  would  be  six  dollars  a  column.  He 
had  calculated,  when  he  learned  the  rate,  that 
should  he  by  his  own  efforts  fill  even  so  little 
as  a  column  a  day,  he  would  nevertheless  re- 
ceive a  weekly  salary  of  thirty-six  dollars.  But 
when  the  cashier  handed  him  his  check  it  was 
for  three  dollars  and  forty  cents.  He  hoped  for 
better  luck  as  time  went  on. 


68  THE  SECOND   GENERATION 

He  cashed  the  check  at  the  Union  National. 
A  carnage  was  drawn  up  by  the  curb  before 
the  bank,  and  as  Jerome  passed  a  man  de- 
scended the  steps  —  a  man  who  made  Jerome's 
six  feet  look  small.  His  face  was  coarse  and 
powerful.  He  might  have  been  a  hippopota- 
mus in  a  frock  coat.  His  voice  rumbled  when 
he  spoke  to  his  coachman. 

"  Yessir,  yessir." 

Growling,  the  hippopotamus  stumped  into 
the  bank.  The  coat  opening  disclosed  a  wide 
and  richly  ornamented  waistcoat,  crossed  by 
heavy  golden  links,  which  supported  ornaments 
massive  and  barbaric.  Crushing  through  the 
door,  he  demanded  "Mr.  Cahill."  "In  his 
office  waiting  for  you,  sir."  The  big  man 
shouldered  around  the  corner  of  the  railing. 

"Do  you  know  that  man?"  asked  Jerome, 
laying  his  check  before  a  teller. 

"  Endorse  it  —  here."  The  teller  slid  it 
back. 

"  The  big  man  with  the  frock  coat  and  the 
red  hair,"  repeated  Jerome. 

"  Three- forty."  The  teller  pushed  out  three 
silver  dollars  and  some  small  change.  "  Don't 
block  the  window,  please,"  he  said  curtly. 
"  That's  the  vice-president." 


THE  SECOND  GENERATION  69 

"What  is  his  name?" 

The  teller  stared.  "  Christopher  Wheeler," 
he  admitted,  after  a  pause. 

Jerome  moved  on.  He  looked  at  the  three 
silver  dollars  in  his  hand.  That  oppressive 
bulk,  the  gold  of  that  watch-chain,  this  brisk 
employee  who  asked  Jerome  not  to  block  the 
window,  were  Wheeler's.  Well,  here  was  a 
dollar  to  offset  each.    Jerome  laughed. 


CHAPTER  III 

Wheeler  went  on  into  the  private  office  of 
the  president.  Cahill,  a  short,  spare  man  with 
bushy  whiskers  over  a  masklike  face,  rose  to 
greet  him. 

"  Something  special  ?  " 

"  Yes."  Wheeler  sat  down  heavily.  "  The 
meeting  is  to-morrow,  hey?  Well,  I'm  going 
to  pull  out" 

Cahill's  face  betrayed  no  emotion.  "  Do 
you  intend  to  leave  the  directorate?  " 

"  Yes,  I'm  going  to  pull  out." 

"  Sudden,  isn't  it?  "  remarked  the  president, 
after  a  pause. 

"  Oh,  I  reckon  you  knew  it  was  coming  — 
hey?" 

"I?  why  should  I?" 

"  It's  mostly  you  that  I'm  leaving  for,"  re- 
plied Wheeler,  savagely.  "  I  don't  mind  telling 
you,  I  don't  altogether  like  the  way  things  are 
run  here." 

70 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  7 1 

Cahill  busied  himself  with  a  paper,  and  his 
sharp  eyes  showed  no  gleam.  The  two  men 
were  notoriously  at  variance  in  their  ideals. 
He  had  expected  a  break  before.  But  the  sit- 
uation was  unexpectedly  simple;  Wheeler  re- 
tired without  a  fight!  Cahill  at  the  moment 
experienced  the  emotion  of  a  general  who  has 
for  months  advanced  his  siege-lines,  only,  on 
the  critical  day,  to  find  the  city  wholly  deserted, 
the  frowning  batteries  wooden.  But  satisfac- 
tion dominated.  He  had  been  sure  of  winning, 
yet  certainly  Wheeler  was  a  redoubtable  an- 
tagonist. 

"Send  somebody  for  my  box,  will  you?" 
demanded  Wheeler.  When  it  was  brought  he 
unlocked  it  and  began  looking  over  various 
certificates.  Cahill  returned  to  his  desk.  He 
wondered  why  Wheeler  was  backing  down. 
Presently  the  clerk  of  the  outer  office  opened 
the  door  tentatively,  and  Cahill  looked  up. 

"  Miss  Robertson  is  waiting,  Mr.  Cahill, 
shall  I  tell  her  you  are  busy  ?  She  says  she  has 
an  appointment." 

Cahill  glanced  at  Wheeler. 

"  Send  her  in,"  growled  the  big  man.  Cahill 
nodded  to  the  clerk.    In  a  moment  Miss  Robert- 


72  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

son  appeared.  Cahill  rose,  but  Wheeler  re- 
mained doggedly  busy  with  his  papers. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Cahill  ?  "  she  greeted 
him.     "  You  got  my  note  ?  " 

"  Yesterday.     Will  you  sit  down  ?  " 

"  Of  course  you  know  then  that  I  am  on  busi- 
ness, and  I  needn't  keep  you  long.  Can  you 
help  us?" 

"  Isn't  your  original  scheme  branching  out 
a  good  deal?  "  Cahill  asked. 

"  I  hope  so,"  she  smiled.  "  You  don't  con- 
demn live  things  for  growing,  Mr.  Cahill  ?  " 

"  Well  —  no.  But  I  should  like  a  few  more 
particulars  —  if  you  have  time." 

"Have  you?" 

14  Yes.  But  perhaps  we  had  better  take  the 
other  office."  He  did  not  look  at  Wheeler. 
But  the  vice-president  from  among  his  papers, 
grumbled  "  No."  Miss  Robertson  did  not 
seem  to  notice  him;  she  began  to  speak,  how- 
ever, at  once.  She  laid  her  plans  out  in 
some  detail.  They  were  connected  with  a  day- 
nursery  for  a  "  College  Settlement,"  far  up  in 
the  northwest  quarter  of  the  town. 

"  In  short,"  she  went  on,  "  to  interest  the 
mothers  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  capture  the 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  73 

young  children.  I  suppose  one  looking  only  to 
the  future  could  have  hope,  even  if  the  mothers 
were  abandoned  to  their  fate.  But  it  seems  to 
me  that  many  of  our  plans  concern  themselves 
too  much  with  speculation  for  the  future,  and 
not  enough  with  amelioration  of  the  present. 
Besides,  the  mothers  interest  me.  And  so," 
she  concluded,  "  the  nursery  seems  an  absolute 
present  necessity.,, 

"  I  never  argue  with  you  when  I  can  help  it, 
Miss  Robertson,"  acquiesced  Cahill,  "  for  I 
find  I  am  always  beaten,  and  I  dislike  being 
beaten." 

"  But  like  a  true  sportsman,  you  own  up," 
she  laughed. 

"  You  shall  not  flatter  me  into  another 
penny,"  he  declared.  "  You  asked  for  five 
hundred?"  She  rose  as  he  handed  her  the 
check. 

"  I'll  give  you  a  thousand,"  said  Wheeler. 
Even  the  careful  face  of  Cahill  showed  his  sur- 
prise. Wheeler  rose.  "  A  thousand,"  he  re- 
peated. 

"  Mr.  Christopher  Wheeler,  Miss  Robert- 
son," said  the  president,  recovering.  The  lady 
bowed ;  Wheeler  gave  a  slight  nod. 


74  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

"  Give  me  a  check,  Cahill,"  he  remarked. 

But  Miss  Robertson  had  recovered  from  her 
astonishment. 

"  Will  you  come  and  see  me  first,  Mr. 
Wheeler  ?  "  she  asked  calmly. 

"Hey?" 

"  Please  come  and  see  me  before  you  send 
me  the  check.  Or  —  I  will  call  at  your  office 
some  other  time." 

Wheeler's  pen  paused.     "  Why  not  now  ?  " 

Miss  Robertson  was  silent.  Wheeler  filled 
out  the  check. 

"  Here,"  he  said.  But  she  made  no  move- 
ment to  accept  it.  Suddenly  the  rare  glow 
came  into  Cahill's  eyes.  He  had  stood  watch- 
ing, unsmiling,  a  spectator  at  a  play  he  did  not 
understand.  Now  he  understood  and  was  bit- 
terly amused. 

"  Before  me,  too  —  the  last  man  Chris  would 
want  there,"  he  thought.  But  he  gave  no 
sign. 

"  I  can't  take  it,  Mr.  Wheeler,"  the  lady  said 
finally.  He  could  not  understand.  "  Isn't  my 
money  as  good  as  anybody  else's?"  he  de- 
manded. She  was  silent.  A  slow  perception 
crept  into  the  great  man's  brain. 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  75 

"  Well,    by    ! "    he    said,    under    his 

breath;  then  broke  off,  stared  at  the  check, 
tore  it  twice,  flung  the  pieces  into  the  grate,  and 
moved  back  to  his  chair. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  seem  melodramatic,  Mr. 
Wheeler,  but  indeed  you  brought  it  on  your- 
self/' Miss  Robertson  said,  with  spirit.  "  But 
believe  me,  I  am  very  sorry."  Her  voice  soft- 
ened. The  big  man  slouching  together  in  his 
big  chair  had  nevertheless  to  her  something  of 
the  air  of  the  ill-used  schoolboy.  "  Won't  you 
come  and  talk  it  over  with  me  —  at  my 
house  ?  "  she  added.  Wheeler  grunted,  but  was 
unintelligible.  In  a  moment  Miss  Robertson 
took  her  leave,  and  Cahill,  at  her  request,  fol- 
lowed her  out. 

"  I  suppose  I  need  not  ask  you  not  to  tell 
any  one  about  this,"  she  remarked. 

"  It  will  do  him  good  to  have  it  known." 

"  I  confess,"  she  returned  with  a  smile,  "  I 
was  thinking  of  myself.  I  am  afraid  it  is  too 
theatrical.  So  please,  Mr.  Cahill."  The  presi- 
dent reluctantly  promised. 

WThen  he  returned  Wheeler  was  on  his  feet. 
The  papers  were  in  their  box.  "  Send  that 
back,  will  you  ?  "  he  growled.    "  I  shall  sell  out 


j6  THE  SECOND   GENERATION 

to-morrow. "  He  made  no  mention  of  the  inci- 
dent that  had  passed. 

Cahill,  a  moment  later,  stepped  into  another 
room. 

"  Will ! " 

"Well,  father?" 

"  Wheeler  has  just  been  in." 

"  I  thought,"  observed  the  young  man  at 
the  desk,  "  that  I  heard  the  old  bear  growl- 
ing." 

"  He  is  going  to  sell  his  stock  and  retire," 
went  on  the  president,  casually. 

"  The  deuce  he  is !  " 

"  So  he  says,  Will.  He  objects  to  our  meth- 
ods." The  eyes  of  the  two  men  met,  and  the 
younger  laughed.  But  Cahill  showed  his  usual 
lack  of  expression. 

"  He  has  the  virtues  and  the  faults  of  all 
men  with  tremendous  conceit,"  the  son  re- 
marked. "  They  carry  everything  before  them 
for  a  while,  then  they  think  '  the  world  is 
mine/  and  down  they  go  like  the  middle  pin. 
Look  at  Napoleon,  for  instance,  or  Bismarck. 
I  don't  mean  to  be  personal,  father." 

"  I  suppose  you'll  take  the  vice-presidency," 
replied  Cahill,  irrelevantly.     He  would  have 


THE  SECOND   GENERATION  JJ 

liked  to  tell  his  son  the  story  of  the  after- 
noon. 

Wheeler,  too,  was  thinking  of  it  as  he  drove 
about.  At  the  office  of  the  gas  company  he 
ordered  the  superintendent  to  fill  a  vacant  place 
among  the  stenographers  with  a  girl  whose 
name  and  address  he  gave.  This  attention  to 
detail  occasioned  no  surprise;  it  was  Wheeler's 
custom  to  interfere  in  little  matters,  discharging 
one  man  for  coming  five  minutes  late,  promot- 
ing another  who  held  the  door  open  as  he 
passed. 

"  There  was  a  woman  in  here  to  see  you  to- 
day," said  the  superintendent.  "  She  waited 
awhile,  then  she  began  to  make  a  fuss,  and  we 
had  to  put  her  out.  She  left  her  name  for  you ; 
here  it  is.    I  thought  I'd  tell  you." 

The  big  man  looked  at  the  name  —  "  Etta 
Goldberg,  yyyy  West  'Adams."  "  She  came 
round,  did  she?  Don't  know  her,"  he  said 
aloud.  "  I'll  stop  her  coming  round  again,"  he 
thought,  profanely. 

It  was  the  incident  in  Cahill's  office  that 
carried  him  to  his  lawyers',  where  he  de- 
manded to  examine  his  will.  It  was  a  docu- 
ment which  he  was  constantly  changing  and 


78  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

shifting  in  little  things.  Now  he  looked  it  over 
with  care. 

"  Wouldn't  take  my  money !  "  he  thought. 
He  had  no  resentment,  only  a  marvellous  won- 
derment at  her  foolishness.  He  was  still  so 
entirely  incapable  of  Miss  Robertson's  point  of 
view  that  a  sort  of  dull  sadness  grew  up  in  him, 
which  even  the  provisions  of  his  will  lost  their 
power  to  dissipate.  Suppose  the  trustees  of 
the  institution  which  —  and  what  an  utter  as- 
tonishment it  was  to  be  to  everybody !  —  he 
intended  to  enrich  with  memorials  at  his  death 
— suppose  they  refused  his  money,  as  this  little 
woman  had  refused  it  to-day?  Was  he  to  be 
balked  in  the  end  of  the  satisfaction  he  antici- 
pated; prevented  of  his  ambitions,  because 
people  hated  a  successful  man  ?  He  had  taken 
the  world  by  the  throat,  and  the  world  disliked 
him  accordingly.  Some  such  thought  mistily 
formed  in  his  big  brain. 

He  drove  on  his  way  back  to  the  office  to  see 
the  doctor.  A  hoarseness  in  his  breathing  had 
annoyed  him  for  some  time,  and  though  he  dis- 
liked doctors  he  determined  to  have  it  removed. 
But  the  physician  shook  his  head  at  the  per- 
emptory demand. 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  79 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  said,  "  we  can't  do  things 
in  just  that  way.  I  wish  we  could.  But  you 
are  the  only  man  who  can  do  anything  for  your- 
self. You  have  lived  a  great  deal  in  your  time, 
you  see;  now  the  machinery  would  naturally 
run  a  little  more  slowly,  and  yet  you  force  it 
ahead  constantly.  Slacken  it."  He  would  not 
prophesy  an  end,  "  except  general  collapse,  if 
you  don't  take  care  of  yourself."  Wheeler 
grunted  again. 

He  was  so  far  from  understanding  that 
which  had  happened  to  him  at  the  bank,  that  he 
narrated  the  incident  at  dinner.  In  telling  it,  his 
wonderment  appeared  in  a  kind  of  grim  gusto 
—  that  there  should  be  such  idiots.  His  wife, 
a  trodden,  striving  creature,  who  had  almost 
managed  the  difficult  feat  of  forgetting  their 
past,  felt  less  amusement  and  more  anger. 

"  Of  course  the  woman  wants  more  out  of 
you !  "  she  cried.  "  Didn't  she  tell  you  to  come 
and  see  her  ?  You  mark  my  word,  Christopher, 
she  will  be  at  you  again  before  long."  Only  his 
daughter  felt  any  shame,  and  she  concealed  it, 
as  she  was  accustomed  to  conceal  her  feeling  in 
this  one  regard.  The  youngest  of  the  group, 
she  was  the  only  one  to  whom  their  anomalous 


80  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

position  in  the  world,  the  constant  abuse  of 
the  newspapers,  and  such  infrequent  happen- 
ings as  this,  raised  any  doubts  of  the  family 
ethics.  She  had  spent  four  years  in  a  boarding 
school  in  the  East,  in  a  sylvan  spot  of  Massa- 
chusetts to  which  all  Chicago  was  only  a  bust- 
ling and  unpleasant  noise  in  the  distance; 
where  her  father's  fame  and  his  notoriety  were 
equally  unknown.  There  she  had  been  accepted 
for  herself,  a  girl  among  girls.  At  first  she 
attracted  some  attention  by  the  excessive  smart- 
ness of  her  clothes,  but  she  was  infinitely  adapt- 
able in  small  things,  and  soon  she  merged  into 
the  habits  of  the  rest,  and  was  one  of  them. 
Her  vacations  she  had  spent  in  the  East,  or 
travelling  abroad  after  the  fashion  of  Ameri- 
cans. Thus  she  had  never  known,  or  guessed, 
that  her  father's  methods  were  criticised  in  his 
home.  She  knew  or  vaguely  remembered  that 
he  was  not  like  the  fathers  of  some  of  the 
other  girls  whom  she  had  met,  but  he  was  ideal- 
ized as  time  went  on,  and  distance  continued  its 
process  of  enchantment.  He  had  been  besides 
a  good  father  to  her.  Indeed,  in  his  own 
household  he  growled  least  of  anywhere.  His 
wife  tacitly  allowed  him  certain  liberties;    in 


THE  SECOND   GENERATION  8l 

return  he  recognized  the  rights  of  his  family  to 
some  extent.  He  was  used,  it  was  true,  to  fly 
into  ungovernable  rages.  During  one  of  these, 
some  time  before,  he  had  gone  so  far  as  to 
strike  his  wife  with  his  fist.  But  the  sobering 
remembrance  remained  with  him,  and  even  in 
his  utmost  fury,  now,  he  used  no  physical  vio- 
lence toward  human  beings  —  even  the  ser- 
vants. But  it  was  woe  to  the  pet  dog  who 
crossed  his  path  in  some  hours,  or  the  chair 
that  stood  unluckily  at  his  hand.  These  mo- 
ments of  passion  were  becoming  more  and 
more  frequent  as  he  grew  older  and  more  over- 
bearing in  his  success.  It  was  one  of  them, 
occurring  shortly  after  her  arrival  from  board- 
ing school,  that  first  set  his  daughter  to  sorrow- 
ful wonder.  What  was  the  matter  with  her 
father  ?  Was  it  possible  that  this  unrestrained 
half-maniac  who  drove  the  white-faced  foot- 
man from  the  room,  and  sent  her  mother  flying 
in  terror  to  lock  herself  in  her  own  apartments 
—  was  the  man  of  whom,  latterly,  she  had 
boasted  to  her  friends?  As  she  lived  on,  too, 
she  quickly  began  to  notice  the  rigid  limits  of 
their  social  place.  Her  mother  complained 
querulously  or  bitterly  of  the  "stuck  up"  family 


82  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

of  Haywards,  whom  she  despised.  The  cause 
of  her  contempt,  it  soon  appeared,  was  simple; 
they  ignored  her.  It  was  a  new  thought  to 
Miss  Wheeler  that  she  might  be  ignored  by 
any  one  in  Chicago  whom  she  chose  to  know. 
The  Haywards  were  only  typical;  they  multi- 
plied themselves  into  a  list,  and  on  that  list 
she  found  the  names  of  one  or  two  or  three 
whose  daughters  she  had  known  at  Pitthamp- 
ton,  over  whose  adoration  for  her  no  shadow 
of  doubt  had  fallen.  Now  they  asked  her  to 
their  homes,  but  they  did  not  come  to  hers. 
Thus  she  gradually  found  herself  forced  into  a 
kind  of  loneliness,  not  disagreeable  to  her  in 
itself,  but  unpleasant  in  its  mysterious  cause. 
There  were  families  in  Chicago,  then,  that 
shunned  the  Wheelers.  Why?  Her  mother's 
creed  was  easy;  they  were  envious,  resentful, 
"  stuck  up."  But  the  explanation  did  not 
wholly  satisfy  Miss  Wheeler.  She  declined, 
in  spite  of  her  mother's  insistence,  to  "  come 
out  "  at  once ;  she  must  wait  a  little,  she  said, 
until  she  was  grown  up.  Her  mother,  futilely 
impatient,  yielded  without  knowing  why. 

This    refusal    of    Miss    Robertson's,    then, 
struck  the  young  girl  with  a  proud  shame.    She 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  83 

was  indignant  for  a  moment ;  but  soon  the  in- 
dignation gave  place  to  a  suffusal  of  sorrow. 
Miss  Robertson!  They  said  she  had  no  ene- 
mies even  among  the  men  whose  work  she  tried 
to  undo ;  they  said  she  was  the  best  citizen  of 
the  city.  And  this  woman  had  refused  her 
father's  money,  the  girl  thought,  as  if  it  were 
polluted  !  Ethel  Wheeler,  in  her  six  months  in 
Chicago,  had  learned  more,  perhaps,  than  in  all 
her  years  of  boarding  school.  This  lesson  now 
came  to  complete  her  education.  Yet  it  is 
doubtful  if  she  needed  it.  She  had  passed  al- 
ready the  stage  in  which  she  wondered  "  why." 
Now  her  query  was,  "  But  what  am  I  to  do?  " 
She  went  up  to  her  own  room  and  cried. 


CHAPTER    IV 

Jerome  had  taken  lodgings,  as  Northrop 
suggested,  on  the  North  side  —  on  Huron 
Street,  in  a  large,  ugly  brick  house  so  filled 
with  lodgers  like  himself  that  the  family  of  the 
landlord  was  crowded  into  the  basement.  The 
landlord  himself,  a  certain  Mr.  Kenealy,  Jerome 
had  never  seen;  all  business  had  been  trans- 
acted with  the  landlord's  wife,  a  tall  martinet 
with  a  darting  eye  that  put  one  immediately  in 
the  wrong.  Mrs.  Kenealy,  in  twenty  years' 
experience  of  letting  rooms,  had  dealt  with 
men  and  women  of  all  kinds,  and  like  the  rest 
of  us  in  a  similar  case,  she  paid  tribute  of  sus- 
picion to  all  humanity.  She  was  taciturn ;  she 
possessed  the  silence  of  the  Indian,  whose  cus- 
tom is  to  lie  in  wait.  Mrs.  Kenealy  was  not 
to  be  deceived  by  easy  manners,  nor  appeased 
by  tales  of  misfortune;  one  paid  (in  advance) 
or  left  the  house.  But,  as  she  exacted  rigidly, 
so  she  gave  exactly  what  she  said.  To  this 
84 


THE  SECOND  GENERATION  85 

woman  three  clean  towels  a  week  meant  three 
clean  towels.  Oh,  upright  Mrs.  Kenealy!  it 
would  be  pleasant  to  stay  a  moment  to  sing  her 
praises  —  the  praise  of  a  landlady  whose  towels 
were  double  length.  But  a  girl  is  waiting  by 
the  lake. 

Jerome  christened  his  room  the  sardine  box. 
It  contained  the  usual  furniture  in  so  small  a 
compass  that  he  must  fold  up  his  bed  if  he 
wished  to  sit  at  his  table.  Here  he  rose  every 
morning  between  nine  and  half-past.  He 
breakfasted  on  coffee  and  toast  for  five  cents, 
in  a  tiny  restaurant  on  Chicago  Avenue,  kept 
by  a  tiny  old  lady  who  sat  all  day  knitting  in 
the  window,  as  dainty  as  the  petals  of  her  own 
rose-geraniums  beside  her.  He  bought  the 
Eagle  regularly;  it  was  his  one  extravagance, 
he  said.  The  fact  is,  he  could  not  wait  until  he 
reached  the  office,  at  one  o'clock,  to  find  out 
what  words  of  his  the  hundred  thousand  sub- 
scribers were  reading  that  day.  He  always 
read  it  over  the  coffee,  sometimes  cutting  out 
some  work  of  his  own,  and  sometimes  finding 
nothing  that  he  recognized.  Afterward,  he 
regularly  walked  to  the  lake,  and  up  by  Lin- 
coln Park,  where  the  sea-wall  stretches  to  the 


86  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

north,  backed  by  its  broad  stone  promenade. 
The  lake  always  attracted  him,  whether  it  was 
lying  like  a  monstrous  unflawed  turquoise,  in 
perfect  and  wonderful  stillness,  or  whether  it 
fretted  and  mumbled  like  an  impatient  child,  at 
the  embankment's  foot,  or  whether  it  flung 
itself  in  masses  of  solid  water  and  spray  against 
the  wall.  Sometimes  it  spread  in  one  colour  — 
pale  blue  or  gray;  sometimes  it  lay  stretched 
like  agate,  here  green,  there  almost  pink,  there 
almost  purple.  If  he  came  early,  he  saw  the 
big  excursion  steamers  hurtling  to  Milwaukee 
before  a  trailing  smoke  that  in  the  alchemy  of 
nature  was  changed  to  filmy  Point  de  Venise, 
and  added  just  the  embroidered  touch  that  the 
sky  pattern  seemed  to  need.  Or  if  these  had 
passed,  dots  of  black  might  crawl  far  out,  like 
flies  on  a  gigantic  window  pane  —  lumber 
schooners  from  Menominee,  or  wheat  ships  for 
Buffalo.  He  would  stride  briskly  up  and  down, 
breathing  long  breaths,  clearing  his  lungs  for 
the  day's  work,  and  staring  eagerly  at  the  quiet 
panorama.  The  sea-wall  was  his  gymnasium 
and  his  picture  gallery. 

On  these  mornings  of  May  and  early  June 
there  were  few  people  by  the  lake,    Ubiquitous 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  87 

baby  carriages  loitered  up  and  down,  or  a  bicy- 
clist rested  a  few  moments  from  his  strained 
pedalling,  to  linger  on  a  bench  and  let  the 
breeze  cool  him.  These  comers  varied  from 
day  to  day.  But  besides  them,  Jerome  noticed 
two  or  three  who  seemed  habitues  of  the  place. 
One,  a  girl,  attracted  him  particularly.  She 
came  regularly,  accompanied  only  by  a  small 
black-and-tan  dog,  very  ill  behaved.  When 
the  walk  was  even  more  deserted  than  usual, 
she  sometimes  ran  after  this  dog  —  not  so  fast 
as  he,  but  with  incomparably  more  grace  of 
motion.  One  morning  Jerome  turned  at  the 
sound  of  yelping,  to  find  that  the  chase  had 
led  them  almost  upon  him.  She  had  been  un- 
conscious of  his  presence,  but  when  she  saw 
him  turn,  she  stopped.  At  that  moment  the 
mass  of  her  hair,  shaken  by  the  run,  began  to 
tumble,  and  as  she  put  up  her  hands  to  it  she 
caught  Jerome's  eye.  She  was  young  — 
younger  than  her  tallness  had  led  him  to  think. 
Instinctively  he  smiled  at  her  embarrassment; 
and  she  smiled  also,  and  then  bit  her  lip  and 
looked  at  the  lake.  Jerome  passed  on;  he 
heard  her  call  the  dog,  and  knew  that  they  had 
turned.    When  he  presently  faced  about  again 


88  THE  SECOND  GENERATION 

she  was  running  in  the  distance.  After  that  he 
saw  her  every  day.  But  he  could  not  determine 
whether  she  saw  him  or  not. 

If  Jerome  had  been  a  man  about  town,  he 
might  have  misinterpreted  her  smile,  and  so 
made  a  very  fatal  error.  But  in  the  country  it 
is  not  the  custom  to  be  impolite  to  ladies.  Je- 
rome was  quite  contented  to  have  her  in  the 
landscape.  Formerly  he  had  come  to  see  the 
lake,  now  he  came  to  see  the  lake,  plus  this  bit 
of  genre.  So  far  as  he  was  concerned,  the  epi- 
sode might  have  ended  so.  He  studied  her,  to 
reproduce  her  in  his  heroine,  but  his  heroine's 
character  he  preferred  to  imagine  for  himself. 
Providence,  however,  and  the  terrier,  decided 
otherwise. 

The  park  workmen  had  been  mending  a  part 
of  the  wall  that  the  waves  had  crumbled ;  they 
left  their  work  unfinished,  however,  so  that  for 
some  time  the  walk  ran  unguarded,  two  feet 
above  the  lake.  This  particular  spot  the  black- 
and-tan  chose,  one  day,  for  an  attack  on  Je- 
rome. He  circled  about,  barking  furiously, 
and  in  his  animosity  forgot  the  peril  of  the 
edge.  Yelping  menaces,  he  backed  toward  it, 
and  in  a  moment  was  over.     When  the  girl 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  89 

came  running  up,  Jerome,  flat  upon  his  stom- 
ach, was  making  a  long  arm  to  the  water.  He 
seized  the  dripping  beast  and  raised  him,  shiny 
but  unsubdued,  from  the  lake.  The  first  act  of 
the  rescued  terrier  was  to  shake  himself  vio- 
lently, flirting  a  halo  of  drops  upon  his  mis- 
tress's gown;  the  second  to  bark  furiously  at 
his  saviour. 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  "  she  cried.  "  Speck,  you 
ungrateful  beast,  do  be  still." 

"  He  thinks  I  pushed  him  in,"  explained  Je- 
rome. 

"  It  would  serve  him  right  if  you  had,"  she 
returned,  "  you  wicked  little  dog !  " 

A  pause  ensued.  Jerome  was  embarrassed, 
as  he  was  always  in  the  company  of  women. 
His  life  in  Indiana  had  given  him  no  opportu- 
nities to  study  them.  To  him  they  were  like 
Byron's  love,  a  thing  apart ;  no  more  customary 
and  common  than  strawberries  in  winter.  He 
had  spent  much  time  in  wonderment  and  spec- 
ulation, for  he  recognized  the  difficulty  which 
confronted  him,  if  his  heroine  were  to  be  flesh- 
and-blood.  But  he  was  no  realist ;  he  was  not 
altogether  sure  he  wanted  her  flesh-and-blood. 

Perhaps  she  pitied  his  embarrassment;  per- 


90  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

haps  she  liked  his  straight  body  and  his  fine 
eyes ;  who  knows  what  it  was  that  attracted  all 
women  in  Jerome  Kent?  At  all  events  she 
spoke  again,  and  her  remark  was  decisive, 
opening  the  way  to  acquaintance. 

"You  come  here  every  day,  don't  you?" 
she  asked. 

"Yes;  I  love  the  lake,"  he  answered.  As 
he  would  never  have  intruded  on  her  acquaint- 
ance, so  he  saw  no  reason  why  she  should  not 
form  his  if  she  chose.  A  woman  was  a  fanci- 
ful creature  whose  whims  no  one  could  foresee. 
"  I  have  seen  you  often,  too,"  he  added. 

"  I  have  to  give  Speck  his  walk,  and  this  is 
the  most  pleasant  walk  I  know  near  here." 

"  I  think  it  is  the  most  pleasant  in  the  whole 
world,"  replied  Jerome.  He  suddenly  experi- 
enced a  curious  and  welcome  exaltation  of 
spirits,  which  made  his  remark  seem  absolutely 
necessary.  He  looked  about;  the  place  was 
superlatively  fair,  he  thought.  "  I  used  to 
know  a  walk,"  he  went  on,  "  between  elms ; 
they  arched  the  sky  out  in  the  middle,  but  the 
sun  came  in  among  the  trunks,  till  it  was  like 
ribbons  on  the  road.  On  one  side  there  were 
all  the  violets  in  the  world,  and  on  the  other 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  91 

just  green  grass.  I  used  to  wonder  which  side 
I  liked  best,  and  I  thought  there  were  no  pret- 
tier walks  than  that.  But  I  like  this  better 
now." 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried,  "  I  should  like  to  have 
seen  those  violets !  " 

The  black-and-tan  punctuated  the  sentence 
with  furious  and  explosive  barking.  He  pro- 
claimed his  anger  to  the  world.  To  see  those 
two  together  confounded  him. 

"  I  must  go/'  she  said,  as  though  answering 
the  conventional  reproof  of  the  black-and-tan. 
She  turned ;  to  his  astonishment,  Jerome  found 
himself  in  step  beside  her.  She  looked  up,  and 
the  shyness  and  the  pleasure  were  written  so 
plainly  on  his  face  that  she  laughed  out. 

"  You  are  afraid  of  me,"  she  asserted.  "  I 
don't  wonder;  this  is  a  terrible  thing  I  have 
done." 

For  no  reason  that  he  could  understand,  Je- 
rome began  to  turn  red.  When  she  saw  it  she 
began  to  turn  red  also.  There  was  a  horrible 
pause,  then  she  laughed  again,  as  though  she 
could  not  stop. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  it  is  too  funny !  Actually 
I  feel  —  "  but  she  stopped  midway.    It  was  not 


92  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

till  some  time  afterward  that  Jerome  learned 
what  she  intended  to  say  —  "  like  a  kidnap- 
per." 

"  I  know  perfectly  well,"  she  went  on  finally, 
"  that  I  am  very  foolish.  Don't,  don't  think 
that  I  —  that  I  speak  —  "  She  broke  off  and 
looked  at  him  imploringly.  "  But  you  were  so 
funny !  " 

They  were  at  the  south  end  of  the  walk  now. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said. 

"  May  I  —  may  I  —  "  stammered  Jerome. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  she  replied,  blushing,  under- 
standing. "  Don't  make  me  hunt  another 
place  to  take  Speck,  please!  You  see,"  she 
went  on,  soberly  now,  "  you  were  so  nice  that 
day  when  —  when  my  hair  came  down,  and 
then  you  were  so  fond  of  the  lake,  and  —  I 
knew  you  weren't  horrid,  you  see,  so  I  just  —  " 
she  broke  off  once  more.  "  Can't  you  just  come 
as  you  did,  and  not  notice  me?  Because  I  do 
love  the  lake,  and  I  don't  want  not  to  come 
here." 

"  I  have  noticed  you  every  day,"  said  poor 
Jerome. 

"  Not  show  it  then,"  she  answered  quickly. 
"  I  didn't  know  whether  you  had  or  not,  you 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  93 

see.  Won't  you  please  ?  "  she  begged  inconse- 
quentially. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Jerome.  Yes,  he 
thought,  this  certainly  was  a  woman ;  and  his 
speculations  had  not  been  so  far  from  the  truth 
then! 

She  walked  away,  the  sunlight  turning  her 
hair  to  fire  as  he  watched  her.  She  was  half 
ashamed  and  half  delighted;  for  she  trusted 
her  guess  that  this  young  man  was  "  nice."  He 
was  from  the  country,  she  could  see  at  a  glance ; 
and  yet  he  talked,  when  he  was  not  stammer- 
ing, in  a  fashion  she  much  preferred  to  the  ordi- 
nary man's  talk  that  she  knew.  But  certainly 
she  had  run  a  fearful  risk !  The  light  went  out 
of  her  face  when  she  thought  of  it. 

He  hoped  she  would  turn  once  before  she 
walked  out  of  his  life  as  she  had  walked  into  it. 
But  she  did  not,  and  he  was  left  to  puzzle  over 
their  interview.  He  puzzled,  but  it  uplifted 
him.  All  day  he  felt  competent  to  anything  — 
as  though  some  one  he  loved  had  praised  him. 
That  afternoon,  as  luck  had  it,  brought  him  his 
first  assignment  of  any  importance  —  to  cover 
a  sudden  big  fire  that  sprang  up  in  the  business 
district.     For  the  first  time  McKinney  gave 


94  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

him  a  star,  and  issued  curt  orders,  abandoning 
the  air  of  paternal  solicitude  he  had  hitherto 
preserved.  Even  his  jocosity  dropped  away, 
revealing  the  best  city  editor  in  Chicago.  Je- 
rome set  out  with  three  other  men,  so  hurriedly 
he  had  scarcely  time  to  wonder  how  to  go 
about  the  work.  But  indeed  by  now  his  early 
ignorance  of  methods  was  considerably  over- 
come. He  was  used  to  the  machinery  which 
collects  and  exhibits  news.  He  knew  what 
"  news  "  was,  and  could  tell  beforehand  pretty 
closely  how  much  space  McKinney  would  allow 
him.  He  could  decide  off-hand,  too,  what  was 
the  "  feature  "  of  a  story  —  the  bit  to  empha- 
size. Best  of  all  he  was  rapidly  learning  how 
to  observe.  In  the  words  of  Donahue,  the 
Irishman,  he  was  getting  "  on." 

When  Jerome  returned  with  a  few  facts  on 
his  scratch  paper  and  many  in  his  head,  McKin- 
ney nodded  agreeably. 

"  Now,"  he  said  seriously,  "  Kent,  it's  up 
to  you.  I  want  you  to  try  your  hand  at  a  real 
good  descriptive  story.  It's  just  this  way: 
Lawton's  down  in  Danville  covering  the  Wells 
murder,  and  Chambers  is  at  the  Automobile 
show,  and  has  got  all  he  can  handle.     There 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  95 

isn't  another  first-class  descriptive  man  in  the 
office  —  unless  it's  you.  I've  seen  two  or  three 
bits  in  your  stuff  that  make  me  think  you  could 
write  if  you  tried.  Now  try.  Take  these  facts 
of  yours,  and  spread  yourself.  Say  first  what 
burnt  and  who  owned  it,  and  then  go  on  to  tell 
what  happened  —  all  about  it.  Make  it  good, 
bright,  snappy  stuff.  You've  got  all  the  time 
in  the  world.  For  once  in  my  life  a  man  has 
had  the  sense  to  burn  up  his  store  at  the  right 
hour  for  us. 

"  Get  in  some  life  now,"  the  city  editor  went 
on.  "  Don't  think  you're  writing  a  sermon  ; 
you  aren't." 

"  It  seems  to  me  the  simpler  the  style  the 
better;  the  facts  are  enough  to  carry  them- 
selves," remarked  Jerome. 

"  Ah,  you're  not  writing  a  book  now,  you're 
writing  for  a  newspaper,"  answered  McKin- 
ney.  "  You  can't  say  it  just  the  way  you  want ; 
you've  got  to  say  it  the  way  the  public  wants. 
Can  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Go  ahead  then." 

"How  much?" 

"  Take  your  own  space  up  to  a  column  and 
a  half.    Your  story  will  lead." 


96  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

Could  he  do  it?  There  was  no  doubt  in  his 
mind  that  he  could  do  it.  He  might  stammer 
now  and  then  with  his  tongue,  but  he  did  not 
stammer  with  his  pen.  His  half  finished  book, 
on  which  he  spent  long  hours  every  Thursday 
—  his  day  off  —  represented  the  chief  of  Je- 
rome's ambition.  He  poured  himself  into  that. 
This  newspaper's  column-and-half  was  a  baga- 
telle. He  attacked  the  task  eagerly.  He  rec- 
ognized the  chance  he  had  been  unconsciously 
waiting  for.  To-day  the  clamorous  typewriter 
was  too  slow  for  his  still  unskilful  fingers,  and 
he  scratched  away  at  his  pad,  tossing  sheet  after 
sheet  upon  a  pile.  Other  men,  doing  bits  of 
the  fire  story,  or  working  on  other  assignments, 
smacked  the  keys  about  him,  and  came  and 
went,  unheeded.  McKinney  picked  up  the  first 
sheets,  looked  them  over,  and  laid  them  down, 
satisfied.  By  seven  o'clock  the  work  was  done. 
Jerome  stretched  himself,  handed  it  in,  and 
went  out  to  dinner,  where,  as  a  celebration  for 
the  afternoon's  chance,  he  indulged  in  a  steak, 
of  the  kind  known  to  the  restaurant  keepers  as 
a  "  small." 

The  next  day  he  woke  earlier  than  usual. 
He  knew  that  the  Eagle  lay  outside  his  door, 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  97 

as  it  did  every  morning,  but  he  preferred  to 
leave  it  there  while  he  dressed  slowly.  He 
pleased  himself  with  foolish  fancies  —  that  at 
the  last  moment  McKinney  had  decided  the 
story  would  not  do;  that  some  other  event  of 
paramount  importance  had  crowded  down  his 
work;  that  the  "  office  "  had  slashed  him  out  of 
all  recognition.  He  enjoyed  the  alternation  of 
feeling,  as  for  a  moment  he  was  able  to  per- 
suade himself  of  the  possibility  of  these  things, 
and  then  would  realize  their  unlikelihood. 

Frequently,  also,  the  girl  by  the  lake  intruded 
herself  upon  his  mind.  He  had  no  intention 
of  speaking  to  her,  of  noticing  her;  he  was  a 
man  who  kept  his  promises.  But  still,  he  re- 
jected two  speckless  collars,  that  morning,  be- 
cause their  edges  were  serrated  —  an  imper- 
fection which  seldom  troubled  him  much. 
Moreover,  he  cast  a  critical  eye  over  his  clothes, 
and  determined,  in  case  he  should  make  any 
money  out  of  the  Eagle,  to  buy  himself  a  new 
suit  as  soon  as  possible.  He  had  been  long 
enough  in  the  city  now  to  know  that  he  had  a 
country  air.  His  trousers,  he  saw,  were  unde- 
niably too  loose,  and  seemed  to  have  cheap- 
ened in  the  night.    He  thought  of  McKinney's 


98  THE  SECOND   GENERATION 

slang  on  their  first  meeting,  and  wondered  if 
he  too  were  "  Reuben  —  fatally  Reuben/' 

When  he  picked  up  the  Eagle,  he  could  not 
help  seeing  the  headline  —  "  Big  Downtown 
Blaze."  Obviously  they  had  given  the  fire  a 
first  page  lead.  But  had  they  "  slashed  his 
story"?  Pleasant  tremors  coursed  up  and 
down  his  spine,  but  he  would  not  look  yet. 
He  turned  into  his  tiny  restaurant,  where  the 
tiny  old  lady  sat  knitting  as  usual,  as  if  the 
eventful  yesterday  had  made  no  difference  to 
her.  She  was  not  even  perceptibly  older, 
though  it  seemed  a  long  time  to  Jerome  since 
he  had  breakfasted  there  the  day  before.  He 
ordered  his  coffee  and  toast  deliberately,  as 
usual,  of  the  old  lady's  granddaughter,  who 
solemnly  asked  him  each  morning  what  he 
would  have,  though  he  had  never  changed  his 
order.    And  then  he  unfolded  the  Eagle. 

There  was  his  story.  He  recognized  the 
opening  lines  at  least.  The  queer  thrill  shiv- 
ered through  him,  of  seeing  one's  words  in 
clean  print;  the  thrill  that  is  like  nothing  else 
in  the  world;  the  thrill  that  makes  books  with- 
out end,  as  the  Song  of  Solomon  says,  the 
thrill  that  veterans  will  tell  you  never  quite  dies 


THE  SECOND   GENERATION  99 

out.  He  followed  the  lines  down  the  column. 
Almost  word  for  word  —  they  had  printed  his 
account  almost  word  for  word.  The  office  had 
not  slashed  him.  To  be  sure  they  had  cut  out 
the  semicolons  and  had  changed  "  although  " 
to  "  while "  in  almost  every  case,  but  those 
were  trifles.  There  was  his  story.  "  Out  of 
the  basement  of  the  four-story  building  of 
John  King  &  Company,  wholesale  dry  goods, 
corner  of  Clark  and  Franklin  streets,  yesterday 
afternoon  at  two  o'clock,  sprang  a  tongue  of 
flame "  —  he  perused  the  opening  sentence 
once  more.  McKinney  had  insisted  that  the 
information  should  go  into  the  first  words,  and 
Jerome  had  yielded.  But  the  rest  he  thought 
was  better. 

He  let  the  coffee  and  the  toast  chill  while  he 
read  on  —  twice  through  the  whole  account. 
But  he  ate  them  without  distaste — his  thoughts 
were  far  away.  He  knew  enough  of  the  paper 
to  be  sure  his  future  was  in  his  own  hands 
now.  He  could  be,  in  time  and  with  Northrop' s 
backing,  what  he  pleased  among  the  reporters. 
This  single  story  would  give  him  stamp.  But 
was  his  ambition  to  be  a  reporter?  He  knew 
that  it  was  not.    To  write,  to  write  —  but  be- 


IOO  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

tween  covers !  Some  day  it  would  come.  Then 
his  mind  strayed  back  to  the  present.  He 
jumped  up  hastily.  Certainly  he  would  not 
speak  to  her,  would  not  notice  her  —  but  it 
would  be  pleasant,  nevertheless,  to  see  her 
again !  There  is  a  fashion  decried  as  inelegant 
by  the  elegant  metropolitan  arbiters  of  style, 
which  prevails  in  certain  sections  of  the  United 
States;  it  is  this:  a  wife  speaks  of  her  hus- 
band, or  a  husband  of  his  wife,  by  the  single 
personal  pronoun  only  —  as  "  he,"  or  "  she." 
This  unconscious  method  of  indication  that  to 
them  one  personality  blots  out  all  the  rest,  Je- 
rome involuntarily  employed.  Would  she,  he 
wondered,  be  there  as  usual?  He  quickened 
his  steps.  If  she  were  not !  —  But  when  he 
reached  the  sea-wall,  there  she  was,  passing  se- 
dately, with  the  terrier  trotting  quietly  behind. 
He  must  inevitably  encounter  her,  then.  Could 
he  maintain  the  appearance  of  unconsciousness 
which  he  had  promised?  The  whole  situation 
struck  him,  somehow,  as  foolish  and  absurd. 
Why  should  he  not  speak  to  this  young  woman, 
who  liked  him,  whom  he  liked?  Why  should 
he  not  tell  her,  if  she  would  be  interested,  in 
his  triumph  of  the  day  before;   find  out  from 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  LCI 

her  what  he  must  know  about  some  woman,  if 
his  heroine  were  to  live  ?  There  were  a  thou- 
sand good  reasons  for  speaking  to  her,  for 
knowing  her,  and  only  one  against.  He  had 
promised.    Well,  life  is  a  queer  sort. 

He  approached  her.  He  could  not  help  ad- 
miring the  splendid  unconsciousness  which  the 
young  girl  showed.  She  did  not  even  overdo; 
she  was  as  natural  as  the  waves  lapping  on 
the  pier.  She  walked  with  a  free  swing;  the 
light  was  in  her  hair  again.  They  met;  and 
he  was  going  by ! 

"  Good  morning,"  she  said  vibrantly. 


CHAPTER  V 

They  spoke  of  the  story  in  the  Eagle  office 
that  afternoon.  Donahue  began  it  by  complain- 
ing of  the  amount  of  space  the  city  editor  had 
given  to  the  fire. 

"  What's  the  use  of  workin'  ?  "  he  demanded, 
generally.    "  It  all  goes  by  favour." 

"  Donahue,"  remarked  somebody,  "  is  sore 
because  McKinney  caught  him  faking.  He 
wrote  up  a  big  story,  full  of  names  and  all, 
about  a  company  that  had  been  formed  to  build 
an  artificial  bog  and  furnish  peat  at  low  prices. 
He  said  the  high  price  of  coal  was  driving  them 
to  it.  I  heard  McKinney  asking  him  about  it. 
*  What  drove  you  to  this,  Joe  ? '  he  asked  — 
'  the  high  price  of  whiskey  ?  '  " 

"  He  gave  the  fire  space  because  the  story 
was  worth  it,"  some  one  else  chimed  in.  "  The 
story  was  a  whale.  I  read  it.  Old  Chambers 
did  himself  proud." 

"  It  wasn't  Chambers,  it  was  Kent  here," 

I02 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  103 

corrected  two  or  three  at  once.  The  last 
speaker  —  Melton,  the  labour  man  —  turned  to 
look  at  Jerome. 

'*  Well,  it  was  good  work,  anyway,"  he  re- 
torted. Obviously  the  city  editor  shared  Mel- 
ton's feeling,  for  he  despatched  a  note  that  day 
to  Northrop. 

"  Dr  Sir, 

"  Some  time  ago  you  asked  me  to  inform 
you,  when  I  could  fairly  judge,  whether  Mr. 
Kent,  the  young  man  you  recommended  in 
May  —  would  make  a  good  newspaper  man. 
I  can  safely  say  to-day  that  he  will,  if  he  wants 
to.  The  story  of  King  &  Co.'s  fire,  in  to-day's 
issue  of  the  Eagle,  was  his. 
"  Yrs  truly, 

"  L.  A.  McKinney." 

Furthermore,  the  city  editor  personally  con- 
gratulated Jerome  on  his  work. 

"  Not  quite  enough  fireworks,  that's  all,"  he 
said.  "  You  showed  you  had  the  powder,  but 
you  didn't  light  it  all." 

"  Don't  you  ever  believe  in  simplicity  ?  " 
Jerome  asked. 


104  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

McKinney  nodded.  "  If  I  was  the  owner  of 
the  paper,  why,  yes.  It  would  be  my  own 
money  I  was  losing  then,  and  nobody  but 
me  to  kick.  But  I'm  on  a  salary,  you  see, 
and  a  man  on  a  salary  can't  afford  principles. 
He's  there  to  make  money  for  the  other  fel- 
low." 

Another  reporter  overheard  them. 

"  Don't  pay  any  attention  to  him,  Kent,"  he 
advised.  "  Our  worthy  city  editor  has  a  theory 
that  he's  a  literary  man  and  can  give  advice. 
But  don't  mind  him,  and  he  won't  hurt  you  a 
bit" 

"  I  keep  my  theories  to  play  with,  out  of 
business  hours,"  retorted  McKinney.  "  That's 
more  than  you  do,  Chambers.  Have  you 
finished  those  automobiles?  Well,  I've 
got  a  little  something  for  you  to  do  in 
the  office." 

"  See  what  comes  of  helping  others," 
groaned  Chambers.  He  was  small,  alert,  with 
thick,  dark  hair;  when  he  spoke,  he  had  a 
disconcerting  habit  of  coming  very  close 
and  peering  fixedly  into  the  eyes  of  the 
person  he  was  addressing,  as  if  he  were 
near-sighted.       "  See    here,"    he    continued, 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  IO5 

"you  live  on  Huron  Street,  don't  you  —  at 
Kenealy's?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Jerome. 

"  I  used  to  be  there.  Now  I'm  next  door. 
Come  round  and  see  me  to-night  on  your  way 
home,  won't  you?  I'm  off  early.  I've  got  a 
pipe  and  some  seven-year-old  Castoria,  and  I 
guess  I  can  find  two  glasses  somewhere.  Will 
you?    Good  again."     He  ran  off. 

In  a  few  minutes  a  boy  brought  Jerome  a 
note.    He  opened  it. 

"  My  dear  Kent, 

"  Haven't  you  neglected  us  rather  shame- 
fully ?  Mrs.  Northrop  has  been  remarking  that 
you  have  not  paid  your  dinner  call.  •  Will  you 
pay  it  this  evening,  at  dinner  ?  I  am  sorry  not 
to  give  you  more  time,  but  Mrs.  Northrop  and 
my  daughter  go  East  to-morrow  for  the  sum- 
mer. We  dine  at  half-past  seven. 
"  Faithfully  yours, 

"  Henry  Northrop." 

"  There's  an  answer,"  said  the  boy.  Jerome 
wrote :  — 


106  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

"  Dear  Mr.  Northrop, 

"  Thank  you  very  much.  I  will  come,  of 
course.  It  was  extremely  kind  in  you  and  Mrs. 
Northrop  to  think  of  me. 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"  Jerome  Kent." 

"  I  can  drop  around  and  see  Chambers  after- 
ward," he  thought. 

"  May  I  have  the  evening  off,  Mr.  McKin- 
ney  ?  "  he  asked  later.  "  Mr.  Northrop  wants 
me  to  go  to  dinner  to-night." 

"  Why,  certainly,"  answered  the  city  editor. 
He  wondered  what  the  relation  was  between 
the  proprietor  of  the  paper  and  this  young  re- 
porter. He  could  not  recall  that  exactly  Kent's 
plea  for  an  evening  off  had  ever  before  been 
given  in  that  office. 

Jerome  dressed  for  the  dinner  with  care  and 
trepidation.  He  thought  of  renting  a  dress 
suit,  but  sensibly  decided  that  Northrop  knew 
he  possessed  none,  and  was  not  asking  him  for 
his  clothes,  anyway.  His  trepidation,  however, 
increased  as  he  neared  Northrop' s  house.  He 
could  have  met  the  old  gentleman  with  unmixed 
pleasure,  but  the  prospect  of  another  evening 


THE  SECOND  GENERATION  IO7 

with  women  disconcerted  him.  However, 
when  he  was  fairly  in,  he  found  matters  much 
easier  than  he  had  hoped  for.  Judge  Hether- 
idge  was  there,  and  a  Miss  Walton,  a  woman 
of  perhaps  thirty-five,  with  gray  eyes  and  a 
pleasant  mouth. 

"  I  begin  to  suspect,  Margaret,  that  the 
world  is  beginning  to  find  out  the  concealment 
that  has  preyed  upon  my  damask  cheek,"  Heth- 
eridge  asserted  when  they  were  seated.  "  This 
is  the  fourth  time  in  two  months  that  you  and 
I  have  been  next  each  other  at  dinner." 

"  The  fifth,  I  think,"  Miss  Walton  returned. 
They  began  to  count  on  their  fingers.  "  The 
fifth  is  right,"  she  said.  "Judge,  how  could 
you  forget  the  Martins  ?  " 

"  Well,"  replied  Hetheridge,  defensively, 
"  that  wasn't  a  dinner,  anyway,  that  was  a  lec- 
ture. There  was  a  long-haired  fellow  there," 
he  explained,  "  who  had  the  loudest  voice  of 
any  of  us;  and  when  I  tried  to  slip  in  some- 
thing quietly  to  Margaret  here,  Mrs.  Martin 
all  but  said  '  Hush ! '  He  was  a  pet  of  hers 
from  New  York ;  some  kind  of  a  prophet,  who 
had  found  a  way  to  make  money  out  of  it." 

Mrs.  Northrop  talked  much,  and  frequently 


108  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

to  Jerome.  "  When  we  come  back  in  the  fall, 
you  must  come  and  see  us,"  she  said.  "  I  will 
show  you  some  nice  girls,  and  some  nice  young 
men,  too.  There  are  a  number  of  splendid 
girls  who  will  be  coming  out  this  fall,  I  hear." 

"  Ethel  Wheeler  —  Mr.  Wheeler's  daughter 
—  is  coming  out,"  Elsie  put  in,  unexpectedly. 
It  was  her  first  remark.  "  I  saw  Mary  Strong 
to-day.  She  knew  Miss  Wheeler  at  Pitthamp- 
ton,  and  she  told  me.  Mary  says  she  is  a  great 
beauty." 

"  Poor  thing  —  what  has  she  to  come  out 
to?  "  lamented  Mrs.  Northrop.  "  What  a  pity 
she  should  be  so  nice,  when  her  father  is  such 
a  —  " 

"  Now,  now,  Mrs.  Northrop,"  Hetheridge 
interrupted,  lugubriously,  ■'  don't,  I  beg  of  you, 
bring  that  man  into  the  conversation,  or  Henry 
here  will  leave  us  no  peace  until  we  have  agreed 
to  rend  the  fellow  limb  from  limb.  Do  you 
know  it  is  June,  and  yet  nobody  at  this  table 
has  said  a  word  about  golf?  Heavens,  sup- 
pose that  should  get  out !  " 

"  All  the  same,"  said  little  Mrs.  Northrop, 
"  I  think  it  is  a  pity." 

When  the  ladies  had  gone  out,  Northrop  re- 
introduced the  subject  over  the  cigars. 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  ICX) 

"  What  do  you  think  about  his  bill,  Judge?  " 

Hetheridge  shook  his  head.  "  Of  course, 
he  is  log-rolling  all  the  time.  But  he  can't  do 
anything  definite  for  six  months  yet,  when  the 
legislature  meets.  I  doubt  if  he  gets  it  through. 
You  knew  he  had  pulled  out  of  the  Union  Sav- 
ings?" 

"  Yes." 

"  He  has  sold  all  his  holdings.  I  hear  from 
a  friend  of  mine  that  he  is  speculating  rather 
heavily  in  mines,  too.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
he  was  getting  old,  Henry  —  like  the  rest  of 
us." 

"  He  could  no  more  get  old  than  the  devil," 
replied  Northrop. 

"  I  believe  you  think  he  is  the  old  gentle- 
man," laughed  the  Judge,  who  had  been  serious 
for  two  minutes,  and  was  tired  of  it. 

"  This  young  man  here  and  Wheeler  have  a 
kind  of  a  feud,"  remarked  Northrop.  Jerome 
looked  at  him  imploringly. 

"Yes?" 

"  Well,  in  a  certain  way.  But  perhaps  I 
should  not  have  spoken  of  it."  He  broke  off, 
leaving  Hetheridge  with  the  impression  of 
some   mystery  —  the   impression   that  piques 


110  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

curiosity.  "  Come,  let  us  join  the  women 
folks."  He  led  them  in ;  he  was  not  in  evening 
dress  to-night,  as  Jerome  had  gratefully  no- 
ticed long  before. 

When  they  found  the  ladies,  Mrs.  Northrop 
was  playing  and  Elsie  was  singing.  She  broke 
off  at  their  approach,  but  Hetheridge  took  her 
hand  and  led  her  back  to  the  piano.  "  I  am  an 
old  man,  Elsie,  and  a  very  bad  one.  Who 
knows  whether  or  not  I  shall  get  to  heaven? 
So  you  must  sing  for  me  here."  She  acquiesced 
calmly.  Her  singing,  Jerome  thought,  he  had 
never  heard  anything  to  equal.  More  colour 
came  into  her  cheeks  as  she  sang  on.  Presently 
her  eyes  met  Jerome's,  and  they  seemed  to  him 
to  light  like  candles.  He  held  his  breath;  he 
felt,  somehow,  as  if  she  were  singing  to  him 
alone.  Even  the  Judge  sat  quietly.  When  she 
finished,  she  stood  still  a  moment,  her  breast 
rising  and  falling,  her  face  aglow.  Suddenly 
it  darkened,  as  if  a  mask  had  fallen.  They 
made  her  sing  again  and  again,  and  she  sang 
magnificently,  but  not  again  did  she  reach  that 
point  of  transfiguration.  Jerome  went  away  at 
eleven  o'clock,  having  been  offered  a  seat  in 
Miss  Walton's  carriage.     Elsie  gave  him  her 


THE  SECOND  GENERATION  III 

hand,  echoing  her  mother's  wish  that  they 
might  see  him  in  the  fall.  Her  hand  was,  as 
before,  cool  and  firm,  like  a  man's. 

When  Miss  Walton  set  him  down  at  the 
corner  of  Rush  and  Huron  streets,  he  had 
promised  to  call  and  see  her.  He  liked  her 
eyes  and  her  quiet  voice,  a  relief  after  Mrs. 
Northrop' s  high  pitch  and  the  clamour  of  the 
Judge.  He  stood  still  a  moment  on  the  corner. 
The  stars  were  out  by  myriads.  Later  he 
found  Chambers,  in  a  gaudy  bath-robe,  hang- 
ing far  out  of  his  window  to  admire  them. 

"  A  fine  show  to-night,"  Chambers  re- 
marked. 

"  They're  the  only  thing  in  Chicago  that 
makes  me  think  of  home." 

"Where's  home?" 

"  Scannell  County,  Indiana." 

"  Hoosier,  eh !  Well,  here's  something  else 
that  will  make  you  think  of  home."  He  poured 
out  a  glassful.  "  Did  your  education  include 
the  significance  of  the  word  *  when  '  ?  " 

"  We  learn  that  in  the  primary  school,  in 
Indiana,"  answered  Jerome. 

"  Admirable  system !  Teaches  the  essentials 
first.    Will  you  have  a  cigarette  or  a  pipe?    I 


112  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

find  my  income  does  not  permit  of  this  luxu- 
rious apartment  and  cigars  also,  but  the  others 
I  keep."  He  rattled  on,  a  cheerful,  slangy  boy, 
full  of  confidence  in  himself  and  of  trust  in 
human  nature.  He  spoke  of  the  .story  of  that 
morning.  "  Where  did  you  learn  to  sling 
ink  ?  "  he  remarked. 

"  I've  been  around  a  newspaper  all  my  life  — 
a  country  weekly,"  answered  Jerome. 

"  That's  the  place  to  practise.  Now  I 
learned  all  I  know  at  college,  and  that  is,  that 
I  don't  know  anything  about  it.  I  took  all  the 
courses  they  would  give  me  in  composition  out 
there  at  the  University,  and  when  I  got  through 
found  I  hadn't  begun  yet.  The  newspapers  and 
the  colleges  don't  altogether  agree  on  writing 
English.    College  man  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Thought  not.  There  are  a  good  many  in 
the  business,  though ;  but  not  so  many  here  as 
in  New  York.  Lots  of  'em  come  on  here  right 
from  the  high  school,  or  even  earlier ;  some  of 
'em  begin  as  messenger  boys  and  work  up. 
That's  the  best  way,  if  you  want  to  make  a 
good  reporter,  with  a  nose  for  news,  so  they 
say.    That  means  a  nose  a  yard  long,  with  a 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  II3 

hook  on  the  end  to  stick  into  other  people's 
business.  The  worse  you  write  the  better  they 
like  you,  at  first." 

"  I  don't  see  that,"  interrupted  Jerome. 

"  It's  true,  though.  Every  paper  has  its  own 
style  —  picturesque  like  the  Eagle,  or  sugges- 
tive like  the  Eye,  or  flip  like  the  Tomahawk. 
If  you  have  your  own  style,  you  see,  you  don't 
fit.  Luckily  for  me  I  was  university  corre- 
spondent out  at  the  U.  of  C.  three  years,  so  I 
learned.  I  sent  them  in  accounts  of  every- 
thing that  happened,  and  in  dull  times,  of 
things  that  ought  to  have  happened  but  didn't." 
He  laughed.  "  They  say  the  business  is  duller 
now,  but  in  my  day,  three  years  ago,  if  the 
President  sneezed  it  was  good  for  half  a  col- 
umn." 

"  Have  you  been  on  the  Eagle  three  years  ?  " 

"  Three  years.  That's  a  long  time,  in  this 
business.  There  are  mighty  few  men  in  the 
office  who  were  there  when  I  came.  Three 
years  on  a  newspaper  is  as  long  as  ten  years  in 
business.  They  started  me  at  fifteen  dollars, 
jumped  me  to  thirty  dollars  in  a  year,  and  there 
I've  stuck  ever  since.  They  think  it's  good  pay 
for  a  kid,  and  so  it  is,  in  a  way,  for  I  know  two 


114  THE   SECOND  GENERATION 

or  three  fellows  of  my  class  at  the  U.  that  are 

getting  a  d d  sight  less  out  of  business  than 

1  am  out  of  the  Eagle,  But  then,  they've  got  a 
future." 

"Haven't  we?" 

"  I'm  blest  if  I  know,  Kent.  When  I  came 
on  I  had  the  idea  I'd  be  managing  editor  in 
five  years.  But  I  soon  learned  better.  It  isn't 
good  writing  they  want  of  their  managing 
editor,  but  a  good  head  for  business.  They 
choose  him  in  the  same  way  Marshall  Field 
picks  a  superintendent.  They  get  a  newspaper 
man  if  they  can ;  if  not,  not.  Now  I'm  looking 
for  the  dramatic  critic  business.  I've  written  a 
few  notices,  when  Hengle  was  off,  and  I  like  it. 
I  like  to  go  round  and  get  drinks  on  Nat  Good- 
win and  Henry  E.  Dixey,  and  a  glass  of  milk 
with  Mansfield.  And  I  like  to  hear  them  all 
slash  each  other ;  nice  as  pie  at  first,  you  know, 
and  then  they'll  let  out  a  stinger  from  the  shoul- 
der. They're  all  for  elevating  the  stage;  but 
each  one  thinks,  when  you  come  to  find  out, 
that  he  has  the  only  derrick  in  the  business. 
Then  I  like  to  shake  hands  with  Miss  Terry 
and  chin  Sir  Henry  when  he  comes  to  town. 
They're  a  little  offish,  but  bless  their  hearts, 


THE  SECOND  GENERATION  II5 

they  know  business  is  business ;  in  the  long  run 
the  box  office  manages  them  and  the  newspa- 
pers manage  the  box  office.  So  they're  pretty 
kind  to  us.  So,  as  I  say,  I've  got  my  eye  out 
for  dramatic  critic.  Just  between  you  and  me, 
old  Hengle,  our  man,  is  going  to  New  York 
pretty  soon  to  look  at  an  offer  he's  had  down 
there  from  the  World.  If  he  takes  it,  that 
opens  his  place  for  me,  do  you  see?  They  may 
get  somebody  else,  but  they'll  have  to  go  out- 
side the  staff  to  find  him,  and  the  old  man  won't 
do  that  if  he  can  help  it.  Anyhow,  they'll  have 
to  give  me  the  job  if  they  want  to  keep  me. 
I've  served  my  time  reporting."  He  began  to 
hum  a  verse  from  some  negro  melody  —  to  the 
effect  that  without  money  one  would  find  it  use- 
less to  approach  him.  But  an  angry  rapping 
on  the  adjoining  wall  subdued  his  singing.  "  I 
forgot  it  was  after  midnight,"  he  apologized. 
"  Have  some  more  whiskey  ?  "  he  peered  into 
Jerome's  face. 

"  Yes,  thanks,"  Jerome  pondered.  "  See 
here,  Chambers,  you  said  a  minute  ago  you  got 
fifteen  dollars  when  you  first  came  on.  A 
week,  or  a  month  ?  " 

"  A  week,  of  course." 


Il6  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

"  Well,"  remarked  Jerome,  defending  his 
ignorance  with  a  laugh,  "  they  pay  me  by  a 
thing  they  call  space,  and  in  five  weeks  I  have 
earned  just  twenty-one  dollars  and  sixty  cents." 

Chambers  laughed.  "  That's  the  way  they 
break  a  man  in,"  he  explained.  "  It's  all  over 
now,  for  you,  probably.  You'll  find,  Tuesday, 
that  they've  put  you  on  salary.  I  hear  they  pay 
nearly  everybody  by  space  in  New  York,  but 
much  bigger  wages.  Dan  Carey  was  getting 
twenty-five  a  week  here,  and  went  to  double 
that  in  New  York.  He  was  back,  stone-broke, 
in  nine  months.  From  which  I  conclude  the 
pace  in  New  York  is  about  one  minute  and 
forty  seconds  to  the  mile.  How's  your  '  nose 
for  news  '  ?  " 

"  Short  of  a  yard,  I  think." 

"  Perhaps  you're  like  me;  you  can  handle  all 
the  facts  they'll  give  you  and  cry  for  more,  but 
when  it  comes  to  hustling  for  them  you  prefer 
a  day  off  —  eh?  That's  why  I'm  getting 
thirty  a  week  instead  of  forty.  I'm  the  best 
man  in  the  office,  they  say,  at  the  fancy  touches, 
but  I  do  hate  to  hustle  for  details,  and  I  guess 
they're  on  to  me. 

"  It's  a  mighty  funny  thing,"  he  went  on, 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  117 

"  what  odd  ideas  people  generally  have  of 
newspaper  work.  I've  an  old  aunt  down  in 
Milford,  Illinois,  where  I  come  from,  and  I  go 
down  to  see  her  now  and  then,  so  she  knows 
I'm  a  newspaper  man.  But  I  believe  a  pile- 
driver  couldn't  push  the  idea  out  of  her  head 
that  all  I  do  is  to  stand  on  the  corner  and  wait 
for  something  to  happen.  Now  listen.  About 
a  year  ago,  there  was  a  corking  story  broke 
loose  out  west  of  town.  It  was  in  a  suburb 
crammed  full  of  Dutchmen,  all  Kitwyks,  and 
Vanderpoonders,  and  Maartens's,  and  the  Lord 
knows  what.  One  of  those  places  you  never 
see,  you  know,  except  from  a  car  window, 
where  you  catch  a  glimpse  of  an  old  lady  in 
short  dresses  on  her  knees  weeding  the  cab- 
bages. If  you're  with  a  girl,  she  probably  says 
it's  so  picturesque,  so  exactly  like  Holland  or 
France,  and  you  can't  think  of  anything  but 
the  cramps  the  old  woman  must  have  in  her 
legs.  Well,  a  tramp  wandered  into  the  place 
someway,  and  he  insulted  one  of  the  women; 
tried  to  assault  her ;  fact  is,  he  did  assault  her. 
Those  farmers  got  after  him  with  pitchforks, 
and  killed  him  there  like  a  dog  in  the  fields. 
"  We  didn't  hear  of  it,  although  it  happened 


Il8  THE   SECOND  GENERATION 

along  in  the  forenoon,  until  three  o'clock  — 
the  deadest,  slackest  time  of  day  in  the  office. 
Some  Dutchman  brighter  than  the  rest  just 
happened  to  think  of  telling  the  police.  I  hap- 
pened to  be  back,  working  on  some  fool  thing, 
when  McKinney  came  rushing  in.  Lord,  he 
was  excited!  He  rushed  me  and  some  others 
down  to  the  station;  telephoned  all  round 
town,  found  what  men  he  could  pick  up,  and 
helped  get  a  special  train  out  right  away.  Half 
the  newspaper  men  in  Chicago  were  on  that 
train  or  else  came  out  hell-for-leather  in  what- 
ever cabs  they  could  pick  up.  We  swarmed 
over  those  market  gardens  like  ants  in  the 
sugar.  They  had  fetched  the  body  in,  for  the 
woman  to  identify  it,  and  there  it  lay  in  the  yard 
with  a  cloth  over  it,  and  flies  thick  on  the  cloth. 
"  Well,  the  Maartens  and  the  rest  of  them 
told  me  all  they  knew.  We  went  over  every 
foot  of  those  fields,  saw  where  they  had  shot 
him  first,  and  then  where  they  had  finished  him 
with  their  forks,  you  know.  I  spent  hours 
hunting  every  detail  of  colour,  and  then  I  sat 
down  and  wrote  the  lead.  Oh,  it  was  a  daisy, 
Kent.  Here  were  the  little  plots  of  ground,  all 
green,  and  the  stubby  little  houses,  and  the 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  II9 

people,  half  of  them  as  Dutch  as  Flanders ;  and 
then  here  was  the  poor  devil  of  a  tramp, 
punched  like  a  colander.  It  was  easily  the  best 
thing  I've  done.  Well,  I  sent  it  to  my  aunt, 
and  what  do  you  think  she  wrote  back?  She 
said  I  was  lucky  to  have  seen  it  all;  and  how 
did  I  happen  to  be  there  ?  " 

"  Complimentary  to  your  style,"  put  in  Je- 
rome. 

"  Best  compliment  I  ever  got;  but  think  of 
the  ignorance  of  it!  It's  characteristic.  You 
find  people  howling  at  the  reporters  because 
they  get  things  wrong  sometimes.  People  for- 
get the  reporters  have  to  find  out  from  some- 
body else,  and  find  out  in  a  hurry.  How  can 
they  tell  a  man's  lying,  or  mistaken  ?  The  won- 
der is  the  papers  are  ever  right." 

"  I've  been  wondering,"  Jerome  remarked, 
"  what  takes  people  into  this  business  of  re- 
porting —  a  love  of  adventure,  or  of  writing, 
or  what  ?  I  haven't  made  up  my  mind  yet  that 
I  like  it." 

"  Most  of  us  drift  in,"  said  Chambers.  "  In 
a  way  reporting  is  a  lazy  man's  job.  It  doesn't 
take  any  preliminary  training,  and  it  begins  to 
bring  in  what  lots  of  young  fellows  think  is 


120  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

good  money,  right  away,  so  they  take  it  up. 
Most  of  the  college  men  begin  in  the  sporting 
department,  I  guess.  Oh,  the  whole  thing  is  a 
sort  of  bayou;  they  drift  in  and  float  around 
awhile,  and  then  probably  they  drift  out  again. 
Few  of  them  stay  over  five  years.  Maybe  they 
go  into  politics;  maybe  they're  sent  out  to  re- 
port some  big  bug's  speeches,  and  make  a  hit 
with  him  and  get  taken  on  as  private  secretary. 
Maybe  they  have  a  chance  in  business.  And 
some  of  them  go  into  literature.  I  remember 
that  Professor  Edwards,  at  the  University, 
used  to  laugh  when  the  men  under  him  abused 
the  newspapers.  All  the  young  fellows  who 
teach  English  think  the  tip  is  to  abuse  the 
papers.  They  hunt  out  all  those  icy  construc- 
tions that  the  best  of  us  will  slip  on  now  and 
then,  and  say,  '  Look  at  the  horrible  writing ! ' 
Of  course,  lots  of  it  is  horrible.  But  Edwards 
was  square.  One  day  when  I  was  talking  with 
him  I  told  him  I  was  going  into  the  newspaper 
business,  and  he  laughed. 

"  '  How  about  that  style  we've  been  trying 
to  nurse  along/  he  said.  '  Aren't  you  afraid 
the  shock  will  kill  it?'  I  told  him  I  thought 
I'd  have  to  stand  it,  anyway.    '  Well/  he  said, 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  121 

1  maybe  the  heroic  treatment  will  do  it  good. 
You  remember  how  the  Spartans  used  to  leave 
their  babies  out  over  night  on  the  mountain 
sides  naked  ?  Some  of  them  died,  but  the  best 
lived,  and  so  the  Spartans  were  a  sturdy  set, 
on  the  whole.  Perhaps,'  he  said,  '  the  news- 
papers are  the  mountains  of  literature.'  Then 
he  spoke  of  a  lot  of  men  —  Howells  and  Kip- 
ling, and  young  fellows  like  Dicky  Davis,  and 
Steve  Crane,  and  Jesse  Lynch  Williams.  '  All 
newspaper  men  of  one  sort  or  another,'  he  said; 
'  some  went  to  college  and  some  didn't,  but  they 
all  lay  for  a  while  out  on  the  mountain  side.' 
Have  some  more  whiskey."  He  poured  himself 
a  glass.  "  That  was  a  great  man,  the  gov- 
ernor of  North  Carolina,"  he  added  appreci- 
atively as  he  drank.  "  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it 
was  his  name  after  all,  not  Toussaint  L'Ouver- 
ture's,  that  will  be  written  in  the  clear  blue 
above  them  all. 

"  Well,"  he  continued,  "  in  case  you  are  in- 
terested? All  right.  I  drifted  in,  then,  like 
the  rest.  I  was  like  three-fourths  of  the  stu- 
dents at  the  U.,  I  had  just  about  money  enough 
to  squeeze  through  on.  I  played  in  the  band, 
and  I  sat  in  one  of  the  libraries  every  day  and 


122  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

pretended  to  know  where  the  books  were,  and 
so  with  what  I  got  from  home  I  never  ran  out 
of  money.  And  I  was  always  plugging  along 
with  the  English.  I  wrote  stories  by  the  hour, 
all  full  of  adverbs.  I  tell  you  I  used  to  agonize 
over  those  adverbs.  When  one  of  my  girls 
smiled,  you'd  better  believe  it  wasn't  just  a 
plain  smile.  It  was  more  of  a  cocktail  —  if 
you  catch  the  allusion.  It 'was  always  mixed 
with  an  adverb.  Maybe  she  smiled  radiantly, 
and  maybe  jocosely,  and  maybe  seriously,  and 
maybe  just  pleasantly.  I  had  my  people  ana- 
lyzed down  fine,  always;  but  the  beggars 
would  never  do  anything,  or  say  anything 
either. 

"  Finally,  my  senior  year,  I  began  to  wonder 
how  about  it.  I'd  always  meant  to  be  a  lawyer. 
You  see  my  uncle  was  a  minister  and  my 
brother  was  a  doctor,  so  I  wasn't  attracted  to 
those  professions.  But  by  that  time  I'd  given 
up  the  idea  of  being  a  lawyer,  either;  I'd  as 
soon  be  dead  and  buried  as  a  young  lawyer  in 
Chicago.  I  guess  the  sensations  would  be 
about  the  same,  anyway.  Well,  having  noth- 
ing else  to  do,  and  no  money  to  speak  of,  I 
went  on  the  Eagle,  thinking  perhaps  I  could 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 23 

find  out  some  things  for  my  people  —  in  the 
stories,  you  know  —  to  do.  But  I  haven't 
found  them  yet." 

Here  was  a  moment  for  confession!  The 
tribulations  of  his  own  people  —  in  the  story 
—  rose  to  Jerome's  lips,  but  he  kept  them  back. 
Chambers's  flood  of  revelation  was  very  good 
hearing,  but  he  saw  no  reason  why  he,  too, 
should  sit  in  the  confessional.  There  was  a 
long  pause. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  take  offence  if  I  say 
something  personal,  Kent,"  remarked  the  other 
man.  "  I  take  it  we're  about  the  same  age  and 
we're  going  to  live  the  same  life  for  a  while,  so 
I'll  begin  with  a  break.  Why  don't  you  buy 
yourself  a  city  suit  ?  " 

Jerome  looked  himself  over.  He  was  fresh 
from  Northrop's  dinner,  and  yet  this  man  evi- 
dently did  not  wholly  approve  of  his  appearance. 
What,  then,  he  wondered,  had  they  thought  at 
the  Northrops'.  He  was  cut  for  a  moment, 
then  he  forced  a  laugh.  "  It's  a  matter  of 
money  with  me.    No,  I'm  not  offended." 

"  Money  ?  It  isn't  the  cost,  Kent.  I'm  not 
asking  you  to  blow  yourself  for  a  P.  A.  or  any- 
thing of  the  sort,"  replied  Chambers,  growing 


124  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

more  slangy  under  a  slight  feeling  of  embar- 
rassment. "  You  can  rig  yourself  up  for 
twenty-five  plunks  to  the  Queen's  taste.  You 
ought  to  do  it.  You'll  have  some  good  big  as- 
signments now;  I  can  see  them  coming  in  a 
flock  like  blackbirds.  Suppose  you're  sent  out 
to  meet  Lord  Charles  Beresford  when  he  comes 
through  again;  you  don't  want  to  go  in  hand- 
me-down  and  a  vest  that  shows  two  studs,  the 
way  Donahue  did ;  nor  you  don't  want  to  cover 
the  flower  show  in  overalls,  either.  Not  that 
I'm  being  personal,  now;  these  are  instances, 
that's  all.  Just  a  knock-about  suit  that  looks  as 
if  you  had  been  measured  for  it  —  you  know  ?  " 
He  found  himself  running  on  at  length,  and 
was  surprised.  It  was  not  Chambers's  habit  to 
be  embarrassed  under  any  circumstances,  least 
of  all,  perhaps,  when  he  was  expounding  to  a 
country  cousin  his  chapter  of  the  gospel  of 
clothes.  But  Kent  generally  possessed  excel- 
lent control  over  his  face  —  except  when  he 
was  talking  to  women.  Chambers  could  guess 
nothing  of  his  feelings  now,  and  was  a  bit  put 
out  accordingly. 

"  Thank  you,"  Jerome  replied  finally.  "  I 
think  you're  right ;  I  believe  I'll  do  as  you  sug- 
gest." 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  125 

"  Good."  Chambers  was  relieved.  He  was 
immensely  taken  by  this  countryman,  and  had 
not  wished  to  spoil  a  possible  friendship  by  an 
ill-judged  impulse  at  its  beginning.  He  felt 
himself  also  reinstated  in  the  position  of  a 
guide.  "  This  is  a  special  matter.  Of  course 
on  general  principles  the  best  thing  to  do  is  to 
save  as  much  as  you  can.  There's  always  a 
lady  in  the  case  after  a  while,  and  then  it's 
good-by  to  the  savings  bank.  I  thank  God  she 
hasn't  come  to  me  yet.  I  guess  I  was  vacci- 
nated so  often  out  at  the  University  that  I'm 
immune." 

Suddenly  Jerome  felt  himself  grow  warm. 
By  a  tremendous  effort  he  regained  his  self- 
control.  He  wondered  if  Chambers  had  no- 
ticed anything.  Why  under  Heaven  should  he 
blush  like  a  girl  at  the  mere  mention  of  one? 
He  resolved  not  to  be  a  fool. 

"  Well,  good  night,"  he  said,  getting  up. 

"  Yes,  the  Castoria's  out  and  it's  one 
o'clock,"  answered  Chambers,  tipping  the  bot- 
tle. "  By  the  way,  Kent,  what  turned  up  to- 
night at  the  office?  " 

"  I  wasn't  there,"  Jerome  answered.  "  I 
went  out  to  dinner  —  at  Mr.  Northrop's,"  he 
could  not  resist  adding. 


126  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

"What  Northrop?"  asked  Chambers,  idly, 
—  "the  old  man?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  The  h 1  you  did,"  replied  the  reporter, 

with  evident  disbelief.  "  To  meet  the  queen 
of  England,  or  was  it  the  Czar  of  Russia?  " 

"  It  was  neither,"  Jerome  retorted.  "  It  was 
Judge  Hetheridge." 

"  Is  this  the  truth  you're  trying  to  tell  ?  " 

"  Why,  certainly.     Good  night." 

"  Good  night."  "  And  I  sat  here  and  told 
him  he  ought  to  buy  some  clothes,"  thought 
Chambers.  He  had  never  been  asked  to  dine 
with  Henry  Northrop,  and  though  he  knew 
Judge  Hetheridge,  his  was  not  by  any  means 
the  knowledge  of  intimacy  that  is  cultivated  at 
little  dinners.  "  Kent  isn't  proud,  anyway," 
Chambers  mused.  "  He  sat  here  as  if  my 
whiskey  was  as  good  as  the  old  man's  must  be. 
But  I  wonder  who  the  lady  in  the  case  is  ?  " 

For  Chambers  had  noticed  the  blush.  It 
was  his  business  to  notice. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  trifle  of  wind  stirred,  but  offshore,  so 
that  the  lake  was  as  quiet  as  a  pond.  Over  at 
St.  Jo,  perhaps,  the  waters  were  running  white, 
but  by  the  sea-wall  they  lapped  and  rustled 
softly,  as  though  the  sun  had  turned  them 
drowsy.  Jerome  Kent  and  the  girl  who  had 
decided  to  come  back  into  his  life,  loitered  in 
the  dreaminess  of  June. 

He  did  not  know  her  name ;  she  had  forbid- 
den him  to  ask.  "What's  the  use?"  she 
laughed.  "  We  have  left  out  most  of  those  for- 
malities, haven't  we?  Let  us  leave  out  this 
one  too.  Of  course  you  can  find  out  easily  who 
I  am ;  but  then  you  would  show  me,  somehow, 
that  you  knew,  and  then  I  should  not  come  here 
any  more." 

"  I  should  not  think  of  finding  out,  if  you 
minded,"  he  said,  hurt,  and  showing  it. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  she  cried.  "  I  know,  I  trust 
you  not  to  try,  you  see  —  that  is  it,  Sir  Gala- 
127 


128  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

had.  You  don't  mind  if  I  call  you  Sir  Gala- 
had?" 

"  I  like  it/'  he  answered  simply. 

"  Do  you  know  who  he  was?  "  She  looked 
at  him  inquisitively. 

"  Yes." 

"What  shall  you  call  me?"  she  demanded 
irrelevantly. 

"  Just  '  you/  " 

"  Ah,"  she  demurred,  "  that  is  too  blunt." 

"  It  is  the  only  word  I  know  that  fits,"  he 
laughed. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  asked  suddenly,  "  did  you 
think  it  was  odd  I  should  speak  to  you  again, 
after  what  I  said?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered,  with  evident  truth.  "  I 
had  not  fancied  that  you  would,  but  it  seemed 
to  me  that  you  had  a  right  to  do  what  you 
chose." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you  are  a  woman,  I  suppose." 

She  smiled.  "  That  is  a  simple  creed.  Is  it 
really  yours,  or  are  you  just  saying  so,  as  the 
books  do  ?  " 

"  It  is  mine  now,  but  I  think  I  got  it  from 
the  books.  Isn't  it  true  ?  Don't  you  always  do 
what  you  please  ?  " 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 29 

"  Oh,  no !  "  she  contradicted.  "  In  the  lit- 
tle things,  the  littlest  of  all,  I  do  generally; 
that  is,  I  say  what  clothes  I  want,  and  where  I 
am  to  go  for  the  summer,  and  things  like  that. 
But  in  nothing  else.  See  now :  I  am  to  come 
out  this  fall.  Mamma  insists  upon  it ;  she  in- 
sisted last  year,  but  I  wouldn't.  Now  I  must. 
I  can  scratch  and  bite  and  be  disagreeable  a 
little  while,  but  then  I  have  to  give  in  —  just 
like  Speck  when  he  takes  his  bath." 

"  How  do  you  mean  '  come  out '  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Come  out  in  society?  " 

"  Yes.  I  am  not  old  enough,  really ;  or  else 
I  am  too  old,  I  don't  know.  There  is  some- 
thing wrong  about  me,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  am  twenty-five,"  he  confessed ;  "  nearly 
twenty-six.  I  am  afraid  I  never  came  out  at 
all.    Am  I  too  old,  or  not  old  enough  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  returned.  "  Could  you 
hold  up  a  big  bunch  of  pink  roses  and  smile  at 
each  one  of  your  mother's  friends  as  they  came 
up,  even  if  you  were  so  tired  of  smiling  you 
wanted  to  scream  instead  —  but  you  don't 
scream  ?  Could  you  go  out  to  dinner  with  boys 
just  back  from  college  on  their  vacation,  and 
keep  on  smiling  while  they  told  you  what  clubs 


I30  THE   SECOND  GENERATION 

they  belonged  to,  and  how  Harvard  had  beaten 
Yale  —  as  if  you  cared!  —  and  made  jokes 
about  the  champagne  ?  Could  you  go  to  dances 
afterward  and  talk  about  the  floor  and  the 
music,  and  how  pretty  you  looked  in  pink,  and 
eat  supper  at  midnight  and  come  home  at  three, 
and  then  do  it  all  over  again  the  next  day,  and 
every  day,  till  you  almost  believed  in  God  be- 
cause he  sent  Sundays  to  rest  in?  Could  you 
do  that?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  Jerome,  cheerfully. 
"  I  could  do  that;   I  should  like  to." 

"  Well,  then,"  she  retorted  disdainfully, 
"  you  aren't  too  old  to  come  out  —  or  too 
young.    You're  just  the  right  age!  " 

"Don't  you  like  it?" 

"  N-no.  I  don't  know.  I  should,  perhaps, 
if  the  boys  were  the  right  boys,  and  the  dances 
were  the  right  dances.  But  I  don't  believe  so 
—  even  then.    I  should  like  —  "  she  paused. 

"  What  should  you  like  —  most  of  all  ?  "  he 
urged. 

She  walked  on  a  few  steps  in  silence.  A 
white  gull,  steering  south,  two  or  three  hundred 
feet  out,  suddenly  shot  downwards,  so  that  the 
sun  glistened  on  his  wings ;  then  he  steered  up 
again  and  sailed  on. 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  131 

"  I  suppose  "  —  slowly  —  "  to  have  wings 
like  that  gull,  and  fly  away  somewhere,  where 
there  was  nothing  to  bother  me  —  to  see  those 
elms  and  those  violets,  perhaps.  Oh,  you  don't 
know;  but  I  fell  in  love  with  those  violets 
under  the  elms !    What  should  you?  " 

"  What  should  I  like  ? "  He  hesitated.  "  I 
should  like  —  most  of  all  —  to  finish  my  book, 
and  have  it  published." 

"  Oh,  are  you  writing  a  book  ?  "  she  cried. 
"  Shall  you  put  me  in  ?  "  Then  she  blushed. 
"  You  know  I  didn't  mean  that." 

"  Very  well,"  he  answered  tolerantly,  "  then 
I  won't.  But  it's  going  to  be  hard  to  keep  you 
out." 

"  Is  it?  "  she  flashed.  "  But  you  don't  know 
me!" 

"Ah,  but  then,"  he  retorted,  "you  don't 
know  my  book !  "  They  laughed  together,  be- 
cause the  June  was  bright,  because  the  lake  was 
gray-blue  like  snow,  because  they  two  were 
young;  for  any  reason  except  his  little  incon- 
sequential remark.    Then  she  grew  sober. 

"  I  mustn't  know  who  you  are,"  she  said. 
"  But  still  you  can  tell  me  about  the  book.  Is  it 
your  first?  You're  not  Mr.  Hamlin  Garland?  " 


132  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

He  was  not,  he  assured  her,  Mr.  Hamlin 
Garland.  This  was  his  first  book.  No  one  but 
he  had  ever  seen  a  word  of  it  —  "  nobody  now 
living,"  he  finished.     She  looked  at  him. 

"  My  mother  saw  it,"  he  answered  the  ques- 
tion she  had  not  asked.    "  But  she  is  dead." 

"  Ah !  "  She  caught  her  breath.  "Iam- 
very  sorry." 

"  You  are  sure,"  Jerome  went  on  quickly, 
"  that  you  won't  go  in  the  book  ?  " 

"How  can  I  tell?"  she  cried.  "I  don't 
know  what  company  I  should  have  to  keep ! " 

"  The  violets  are  in  there,"  he  said. 

"What  else?" 

Then  he  told  her  the  story  of  his  book.  It 
was  no  modern  novel,  with  each  character 
properly  analyzed,  and  a  neat  little  problem  set 
out  ready  to  be  solved  —  the  endless  chain 
novel,  which  binds  each  author  to  find  a  new 
problem  for  every  one  he  solves.  It  was  a  fine 
slashing  romance  of  years  ago,  when  the  Ind- 
ians overran  the  West  as  far  as  Pittsburg, 
and  the  settlers'  only  friends  were  axe  and  gun 
—  a  story  of  love  and  war,  but  more  of  war 
than  love,  as  he  realized  when  he  retold  it  to 
this  young  girl.    There  were  forays  and  am- 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 33 

bushes,  kind  hearts  and  strong  arms.  "  But  it 
goes  slowly/'  he  said;   "  I  have  so  little  time." 

She  did  not  answer. 

As  the  June  wore  on  they  had  long  talks  to- 
gether, morning  after  morning.  Out  of  bits 
and  scraps  he  pieced  her  life.  She  was  evi- 
dently rich;  she  was  fond  of  her  father,  who 
tried  to  give  her  everything  in  the  world ;  she 
was  too  strong-willed  and  "  queer  "  to  please 
her  mother,  of  whom  she  hardly  ever  spoke. 
She  had  been  four  years  in  a  girls'  school,  and 
two  summers  abroad.  She  had  few  friends  in 
the  city,  partly,  he  guessed,  because  she  had 
been  so  much  away,  partly  because  she  was 
thought  to  be  a  little  odd.  She  admitted  freely 
one  day  that  people  considered  her  rather  un- 
conventional. 

"  But  they  are  wrong,"  she  declared.  "  I  am 
the  properest  of  the  proper  —  except  when  I 
can  do  as  I  please !  "  He  dimly  fancied,  too, 
from  the  way  she  spoke  of  these  "  people  "  who 
surrounded  her,  that  in  spite  of  her  wealth  and 
beauty  they  built  some  barrier  against  her  — 
though  he  could  not  guess  what.  He  asked 
her,  one  day,  to  tell  him  of  the  interior  of  a  par- 
ticularly splendid  and  castellated  structure,  all 


134  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

domes  and  peaks  and  towers,  which  threatened 
the  sun,  within  sight  of  them. 

"  Oh,  I  have  never  seen  it !  "  she  declared. 
"  I  never  shall  see  it,  I  suppose."  She  laughed, 
and  would  not  tell  him  why.  He  fancied  a 
trace  of  bitterness  in  her  laughter. 

"  But  aren't  they  a  very  fine  folk  who  live 
there?"  he  asked,  half  seriously. 

"  Very  fine,"  she  agreed.  "  Much  too  fine 
for  little  me." 

On  his  part  he  told  her  everything  of  his 
life  that  seemed  to  interest  her,  and  it  was  won- 
derful how  interested  she  was,  and  how  much 
there  was  to  tell.  He  was  amazed  to  find  his 
own  quiet  existence  had  held  so  much  of  the 
adventurous  and  the  gay.  When  he  spoke  of 
wide  brown  fields  he  had  run  barefooted 
through,  from  April  to  November,  her  eyes 
widened.  "  I  always  wanted  to  go  bare- 
footed," she  sighed.  "  Sometimes  I  dream 
that  long  ago,  when  I  was  a  little,  little  girl,  I 
did.  But  I  know  that  it  was  just  a  dream,  and 
I  cannot  do  it  any  more."  He  told  her  how  he 
had  fished  and  picked  wild  raspberries,  until 
the  oil  boom  came,  and  civilization  of  the  very 
modern  sort,  which  crowds  out  berry  bushes 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 35 

and  kills  all  the  fish ;  how  later  he  had  gone  to 
work  in  the  printing  office,  and  learned  to  set 
type  when  he  was  twelve,  and  when  he  was 
seventeen  could  get  out  the  paper  alone  —  his 
father's  paper,  which  his  mother  would  never 
sell,  but  kept  for  him  through  all  the  crowding 
years. 

"  But  I  disappointed  her  —  as  I  seem  fated 
to  disappoint  every  one,"  he  added  sadly.  "  I 
would  rather  write  in  the  office  than  go  out  and 
get  the  news,  and  so  the  paper  didn't  get  on." 
He  told  her  of  the  first  poem  he  had  written,  and 
how  he  had  set  it  up  himself,  and  in  the  delight 
of  seeing  the  lines  come  out  clear  had  printed 
off  fifty  copies ;  and  then  how  he  had  destroyed 
all  but  two,  one  for  himself  and  one  for  his 
mother.  "  The  poem  was  to  her,"  he  said. 
He  told  how  his  mother  failed  slowly,  and  how 
at  last  she  died,  and  he  sold  the  good-will  and 
the  presses  to  the  man  who  held  the  mortgage, 
and  came  up  to  Chicago  with  a  hundred  and 
twenty-five  dollars,  his  unfinished  story,  and  a 
letter  to  a  friend.  Who  the  friend  was,  or 
what  he  did,  Jerome  did  not  say. 

"  But,"  she  questioned  one  day,  when  he  had 
been  telling  her  of  the  long  years  through 


I36  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

which  he  had  worked  and  written,  "  you  never 
speak  of  any  girl  friends.  Did  you  not  know 
any  women  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  admitted,  "  I  knew  some." 

"  Tell  me  about  them." 

"  Well  —  there  was  one,  tall  and  dark,  with 
splendid  eyes.  She  was  proud,  and  she  had  a 
temper,  I  think ! "  he  laughed.  "  But  I  think 
I  liked  her  best  of  all.  You  see  I  knew  her 
from  the  time  she  was  a  tiny  little  girl.  I  am 
not  sure  that  as  she  grew  older  I  was  not  a 
little  afraid  of  her,  but  I  kept  on  liking  her, 
because  she  was  so  kind,  and  fine,  and  lovely. 
I  liked  her  —  yes,  I  think  I  loved  her."  He 
stopped. 

"  What  became  of  her  ?  "  the  girl  asked. 

"  She  grew  up  and  she  married.  Then  — 
well,  then  I  think  she  was  very  happy,  but  I  am 
not  sure.  Her  husband  was  not  worthy  of 
her."  He  stopped  again.  "  But  I  hope  she 
was  happy.    May  I  tell  you  her  name?  " 

"  Oh,  no  —  never  mind,"  she  answered 
quickly ;  "  I  was  only  curious  for  an  in- 
stant." 

He  went  on  without  heeding.  "  Her  name 
was  Ethel." 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION      "  1 37 

"  Ethel !"  the  girl  cried  involuntarily, 
"why!  —  " 

"Yes?" 

"  Nothing,"  she  returned,  and  bit  her  lip. 
"Ethel  — what?" 

"  Ethel  Newcome,"  he  finished. 

"  Oh ! "  she  cried  again.  "  But  she  was  a 
girl  in  a  book  S  " 

"Was  she?"  Jerome  answered  placidly. 
"  Maybe  so.  But  I  loved  her ;  and  I  loved 
more  than  any  one  else  the  man  who  intro- 
duced me  to  her  —  William  Makepeace 
Thackeray,  whom  may  God  bless  forever, 
Amen!" 

"  But  had  you  no  girl  friends,"  she  went  on, 
"  except  in  books?  " 

"  No,  not  friends,"  he  told  her.  "  I  have 
known  very  few  other  women  than  my 
mother." 

"  Perhaps,"  she  exclaimed  laughingly,  "  that 
is  why  you  respect  us  so  much.  You  have 
known  so  few !  " 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  she  told  him  one 
day,  "  that  I  never  had  a  poem  written  to  me. 
Write  me  a  poem,  Sir  Galahad."  It  was  when 
they  had  known  one  another  a  long  time  — 


I38  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

longer  than  Jerome's  whole  life  before  —  that 
she  said  that.  For  three  weeks  he  had  been 
seeing  her  almost  every  morning. 

"  I  should  like  to  above  all  things,"  he  de- 
clared.   "  Shall  I  write  it  now  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  commanded  imperiously.  "  Talk 
to  me  now.  But  bring  me  the  poem  to-mor- 
row." 

He  sat  up  late,  when  he  came  home  from 
work,  writing  and  thinking.  Where  was  he 
drifting  to?  He  had  been,  perhaps,  barely 
conscious  of  drifting  anywhere.  And  yet, 
though  little  learned  in  women  or  the  habits  of 
women,  he  was  not  a  fool.  He  could  not  go 
day  by  day  to  the  lake  shore  and  meet  this 
young  girl,  who  laughed  at  him  and  com- 
manded him  and  showed  him  moods  as  various 
as  sunshine,  without  becoming  aware  that  she 
liked  him.  And  he?  As  he  puzzled  over  his 
rhymes,  the  conviction  began  to  grow  up  in 
him  that  his  feeling  for  her  was  more  than  the 
liking  for  something  in  harmony  with  lake  view 
and  breeze  and  long  June  forenoon,  with  which 
he  had  begun.  He  knew  when  he  ended  his 
poem,  that  he,  Jerome  Kent,  loved  this  girl, 
unknown  to  him  by  name,  but  known,  he  was 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 39 

sure,  in  all  other  ways.  He  did  not  know  how 
easily  any  woman  might  have  deceived  him. 
He  did  not  know  that  since  the  purity  of  his 
heart  called  out  to  purity,  and  that  since  in 
every  woman,  no  matter  how  she  may  have 
trodden  her  soul  in  the  mud,  a  spark  of  purity 
still  burns,  no  woman  would  have  deceived  him. 
But  this  girl  whom  he  saw  like  a  jewel  in  every 
day's  circle  —  that  she  was  the  diamond  among 
women,  he  was  sure  as  he  had  been  of  his 
mother's  love  —  or,  let  us  say  now,  of  his  own. 
That  she  was  far  more  rich  than  he,  he  tran- 
quilly accepted  as  a  fact.  That  the  handful 
called  society  would  hold  him  no  match  for 
her,  he  knew.  That  he  had  never  thought  of 
marriage,  or  even  of  love,  amused  him.  He 
loved  her.  Did  she  love  him?  He  did  not 
know ;  he  hardly  even  cared,  as  yet.  If  he  had 
searched  his  indifference  to  the  bottom,  he 
would  have  found  it  grounded  on  the  uncon- 
scious conviction  that  she  did.  So  he  wrote 
his  poem. 

He  carried  it  to  her  the  next  morning,  but 
she  seemed  to  have  forgotten.  There  was  a 
line  in  her  forehead,  which  came  sometimes 
when  she  was  puzzled  or  annoyed. 


140  THE    SECOND   GENERATION 

"  Why,  do  you  think/'  she  demanded,  "  is 
everything  crossways  in  the  world  ?  " 

"  Is  everything  crossways  ?  " 
*     She  nodded.     "  I  have  what  the  next  girl 
wants,  and  she  has  what  I  want.     It  is  as  if 
we  were  all  left-handed  children,  and  God  had 
given  us  all  right-handed  toys! " 

"  Oh,  you  can  read  plenty  of  essays  on  the 
philosophy  of  discontent,"  answered  Jerome. 
"  If  we  all  had  what  we  wanted,  we  should  all 
sit  still;  who  would  there  be  to  push?  " 

"  I  don't  mean  that,"  she  declared  slowly. 
"  I  understand  ambition.  I  don't  think  I  am 
ambitious,  but  I  can  understand  it  in  other 
people.  But  when  one  hurts  nobody,  why 
should  the  world  be  so  that  one  is  hurt?  " 

"Why  should  children  be  unhappy?"  he 
said.     "  Is  that  what  you  mean?  " 

"  Children  —  or  anybody.  Sometimes  I  am 
a  child  and  sometimes  I  am  a  woman,  and  I  do 
not  know  which  one  is  hurt  worse.  Now  read 
me  your  poem." 

"  To  the  child,  or  to  the  woman  ?  " 

"  To  the  child,  Sir  Galahad.  It  is  always,  I 
think,  the  child  with  you ! " 

He  read  it  to  her. 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 4 1 

"  The  drums  of  the  wind  beat  low, 
The  hosts  of  the  night  are  out ; 
I  can  see  the  flare  of  the  stars 
Who  have  driven  the  day  to  rout. 

"  Thousands  of  years  ago 

The  torch  of  the  furtherest  whirled 
To  fling  off  the  light  that  lies 
To-night  on  this  little  world. 

"  Thousands  of  years  ago 

Ah,  how  straight  and  how  far! 
And  love  to  the  heart  of  a  man 
Comes  it  otherwise,  oh,  my  star  ?" 

As  he  read  the  first  two  stanzas,  she  listened 
with  a  critical  interest,  as  yet,  however,  scarcely 
comprehending.  When  he  finished,  he  did  not 
at  once  look  at  her,  or  he  would  have  seen  her 
lips  part  almost  in  a  gasp.  Who  knows  what 
he  might  have  said  or  done,  if  he  had  seen  the 
way  she  looked  at  him?  But  when  he  raised 
his  eyes,  she  was  smiling  contentedly. 

"  It  is  very  pretty,"  she  said.  "  Oh,  yes,  I 
like  it  —  though  it  seems  a  little  academic 
and  stiff,  don't  you  think  ?  —  a  little  bit  of  the 
usual  thing?  " 

He  was  chilled  and  puzzled.  Had  his  mes- 
sage been  so  direct  that  she  was  offended,  or  so 


142  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

vague  that  she  was  unaware?  What  he  had 
expected  her  to  do  he  did  not  know,  but  not 
this.  While  he  groped  for  the  right  words, 
she  went  on. 

"  I  have  only  a  minute  this  morning. 
Clothes,  clothes !  You  see  I  shall  be  going  out 
of  the  city  soon.  Indeed,  I  couldn't  have  come 
at  all  to-day  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  poem. 
Good-by."   ' 

"  Till  to-morrow,  then,"  he  answered,  his 
brain  still  hesitant.     Still  she  did  not  go. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  aren't  you  going  to  give 
it  to  me,  after  all?" 

Jerome's  heart  gave  such  a  leap  as  he  had 
never  known.  He  handed  her  the  paper  si- 
lently. 

"  Thank  you." 

"  You  are  not  offended,  then  ?  "  he  asked 
hurriedly. 

She  looked  at  him,  her  eyes  wide  with  sur- 
prise. "  Offended  ?  No,  indeed.  It  is  very 
pretty,  really.    Now  good-by." 

His  heart  sank  again  as  he  watched  her  go. 
She  had  not  understood!  Well,  it  was  natu- 
ral. He  was  a  fool;  how  could  she  possibly 
guess  that  he  had  meant  his  poem  in  earnest  — 


THE   SECOND  GENERATION  1 43 

he,  unknown,  to  her  unknown,  and  after  little 
more  than  a  double  fortnight.  Still  she  had 
taken  the  poem. 

And  she  was  saying  under  her  breath  as  she 
hurried  away,  her  eyes  shining,  "  Sir  Galahad ! 
Ah,  Sir  Galahad!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

It  was  not  until  the  next  day  that  Jerome,  in 
the  turmoil  of  his  brain  over  her  reception  of 
the  poem,  remembered  another  remark  of  hers 
—  a  passing  phrase  which  seemed  so  imprinted 
on  his  brain,  when  he  once  recalled  it,  that  he 
wondered  how  he  had  let  it  slip  his  thoughts  a 
moment.  "  We  shall  soon  be  going  away  for 
the  summer  I "  If  he  had  needed  any  mark 
upon  the  bank  before  to  show  how  far  he  had 
drifted,  he  had  one  now.  The  idea  of  spending 
day  after  day  with  never  a  glimpse  of  Her; 
the  sounds  of  the  whole  city  in  his  ears,  and 
never  a  word  of  Hers  —  it  was  absurd  and  im- 
possible. He  hurried  to  the  sea-wall  to  prove 
how  absurd,  impossible  it  was;  and  when  he 
reached  the  place  she  was  not  there.  He 
waited  futilely  throughout  the  morning;  she 
did  not  come.  Savagely  he  attacked  his  work 
in  the  afternoon  and  drove  it  through.  He  tor- 
mented himself  with  speculation.  Had  she 
144 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 45 

understood  him  and  did  not  wish  to  under- 
stand ?  or  had  she  really  gone  without  a  word  ? 
or  would  she  come  again  next  day  as  she  had 
always  done?  They  gave  him  an  assignment 
that  took  him  far  into  the  northwest  part  of 
the  city,  where  he  had  been  on  the  first  day. 
He  passed  the  John  Kocynski  School  —  the 
second  time  he  had  seen  it.  The  curtains  were 
drawn  at  the  windows;  summer  had  led  the 
children  out  of  bondage.  Jerome  wondered 
idly  where  the  Jewish  girl  was  who  had  given 
him  her  address,  "  JJJJ  West  Adams  —  four 
sevens."  He  made  odd  acquaintances,  he 
thought. 

When  he  returned  to  the  office  he  found  a 
note  from  Northrop  asking  him  out  to  Lake 
Forest  over  Sunday.  "  I  have  a  special  reason 
besides  the  wish  to  see  you,"  wrote  the  old  man. 
"  Do  not  disappoint  me."  Jerome  was  to  catch 
the  six-o'clock  train.  He  was  angry  and  disap- 
pointed. How  could  he  go,  when  she  might  be 
waiting  for  him  the  next  day?  And  yet  he 
must.  "  I  have  a  special  reason."  What  rea- 
son? Ordinarily  Jerome  would  have  been 
intensely  interested  in  this  mysterious  phrase. 
Now  he  speculated  without  heart.    When,  after 


146  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

finding  from  McKinney  that  Northrop  had  ar- 
ranged for  his  time  off,  Jerome  caught  the  six- 
o'clock  train,  he  found  the  old  gentleman,  who 
had  discarded  his  heavy  ulster,  but  still  wore  a 
gray  spring  coat,  leaning  back  in  a  seat  all 
alone. 

"  You  see  I  managed  to  save  one  for  you," 
Northrop  said. 

"  Thank  you,"  Jerome  replied,  almost  curtly. 
He  was  not  in  good  humour  yet.  Northrop 
watched  him,  as  the  young  man  sat  squarely  to 
the  front,  moodily  staring  at  nothing.  He  ob- 
served the  wide-set  brown  eyes  beneath  the 
broad  forehead  and  the  dark  hair ;  he  observed 
the  clean  lines  of  the  mouth,  curving  a  little  at 
the  corners ;  the  strong  shoulders  under  the  un- 
fashionable clothes.  He  thought,  "  He  has  the 
power;  has  he  the  determination?"  It  was 
debatable,  perhaps,  and  yet  Northrop  wished 
that  he  had  such  a  son  to  carry  on  his  work. 
God  had  blessed  him  in  his  daughter,  but  his 
name,  that  he  had  worked  hard  to  make,  must 
die  out. 

"  I  never  am  really  awake,"  he  broke  out  ab- 
ruptly, "  until  we  pass  Evanston ;  then  I  know 
the  city  is  only  a  bad  dream,  and  life  is  real  and 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 47 

delightful  after  all.  I  have  something  to  show 
you  when  we  reach  my  place/ ' 

"  The  special  reason  you  referred  to,  sir?  " 

"  No,  oh,  no,  that  is  entirely  different." 
They  lapsed  again  into  silence  for  a  while,  busy 
each  with  his  own  thoughts. 

"  I  hear  that  Chris  Wheeler  is  dipping  pretty 
heavily  into  speculation,"  Northrop  remarked. 

"  Judge  Hetheridge  said  something  of  the 
sort  the  other  evening,  I  remember,"  Jerome 
added. 

"  Yes,  I  verified  it.  I  make  it  my  business  to 
know  as  closely  as  I  can  what  the  man  is  at. 
He  is  gambling  on  a  fairly  large  scale,  nobody 
knows  why." 

"  Perhaps  he  needs  money  now,  to  get  more 
when  his  bill  is  passed." 

"  Possibly.  I  hope  we  shall  disappoint  him 
there.  But  I  am  inclined  to  think  Hetheridge 
was  right ;  the  man  is  getting  old  and  greedy. 
I  have  more  hopes  of  beating  him  now  than 
ever  before.  When  a  man  begins  on  the  stock 
market,  especially  so  late  as  Wheeler  has,  he  is 
on  quicksands  always.  He  can't  give  his  best 
attention  to  his  other  affairs." 

Northrop's  trap  waited  for  them  at  the  sta- 


I48  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

tion.  When  the  old  man  was  fairly  seated  he 
looked  about  restfully.  The  still  woodsy  town 
satisfied  him. 

"  I  love  this  place/'  he  declared.  The  long 
June  twilight  hung  about  them  as  they  drove 
amidst  the  groves.  One  bird,  somewhere  in 
the  tops,  was  deceived  into  a  sleepy  singing, 
and  they  stopped  to  listen.  The  wind  rustling 
from  somewhere  eastward  fanned  away  the 
heat.  Through  long  windows,  deep  set  behind 
stretches  of  green  lawn,  they  saw  families  sit- 
ting down  to  dinner.  Northrop  knew  them  all ; 
here  the  Martins  lived,  here  the  Haywards,  here 
the  Hitchcocks.  The  old  man's  voice  took  on 
quietness  as  he  pointed  out  everything.  The 
shaded  avenues  followed  no  lines  but  their  own 
sweet  caprice. 

At  dinner  Northrop  spoke  to  Jerome  of  John 
Kent,  his  father. 

"  I  met  him  thirty  years  ago,"  he  said.  "  I 
suspect  it  was  your  father  who  put  a  purpose  in 
me.  I  was  always  a  dreamer  of  dreams;  he 
made  me  wake.  He  had  a  kind  of  intensity  of 
mind  that  was  unusual,  I  think.  I  have  seen 
many  more  successful  men,  but  few  who 
burned  so.  He  had  the  consuming  fire,  I  won- 
der if  you  have  inherited  it  ?  " 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 49 

Jerome  remembered  his  keen,  fierce,  quiver- 
ing little  father ;  so  quick,  so  unsystematic ;  so 
earnest  and  so  tactless,  so  enthusiastic,  vision- 
ary, downright,  impracticable  —  his  father, 
dead  nearly  twenty  years.  His  father,  like 
Northrop,  had  been  a  dreamer  of  dreams  —  of 
dreams  in  which  he  believed  so  passionately 
that  they  became  the  only  realities.  After  all, 
what  was  a  man  with  a  purpose  but  a  man  who 
meant  to  make  his  dreams  come  true  ? 

"I  do  not  suppose,"  Northrop  went  on, 
watching  the  young  man's  face,  "  that  your 
father  would  ever  have  been  a  great  man.  He 
lacked  the  money-making  facility,  for  one 
thing;  the  world  would  not  have  known 
him.  And  then  probably  his  intensity  made 
him  narrow.  But  what  a  patriot  he  could  have 
made!  what  a  martyr!  Oh,"  he  added  sud- 
denly, "  Christopher  Wheeler  has  much  to  an- 
swer for,  but  most  of  all  that  he  killed  your 
father!" 

Jerome's  revery  broke  in  pieces. 

"Killed  him?" 

"  Killed  him,  of  course.  Didn't  you  tell  me 
as  much  ?  He  is  as  responsible  as  any  murderer 
ever  is.     And  yet  he  has  escaped  all  punish- 


I50  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

ment.  Poor  John,  poor  John.  Come,"  he 
added,  "  let  us  go  into  the  garden." 

The  night  had  fallen  when  they  went  out. 
The  old  man  led  the  way  to  a  corner  of  the 
plot. 

"  Do  you  see  these  ?  "  He  pointed  to  a  num- 
ber of  bushes  looming  in  the  darkness.  "  Do 
you  know  what  these  are?  " 

"  I  can't  be  sure,"  Jerome  answered,  peer- 
ing;   "but  I  think  it  is  —  " 

"  Hawthorn,"  cried  Northrop,  triumphantly. 
"  I  had  them  transplanted  here,  soon  after  you 
came.  Do  you  remember  how  you  told  me  you 
had  walked  unexpectedly  by  a  bank  of  it? 
These  will  bloom  next  year.  I  hope  you  will 
come  out  and  help  me  enjoy  them." 

They  went  to  church  on  the  next  day,  at  the 
hour  when  Jerome  usually  saw  Her.  Every  one 
knew  every  one  else.  After  the  service,  when 
he  had  met  a  few  of  the  people  who  loitered 
out  —  among  whom  he  was  surprised  to  find 
Miss  Walton  —  they  dined  in  state.  During 
the  long  meal  there  was  still  no  word  of  the 
"  special  reason  "  which  had  brought  the  young 
reporter  to  Lake  Forest.  But  after  dinner 
Northrop  led  the  way  into  the  library. 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  151 

"  Let  me  see,"  he  asked  abruptly,  "  that  pa- 
per you  showed  me  once  before  —  the  one  your 
father  wrote  before  he  died.  Do  you  keep  it 
about  you  ?  " 

Jerome  drew  it  out.    "  There,  sir." 

Northrop  read  it,  puckering  his  brows.  "  I 
promise  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man  to  devote 
my  life  to  this  one  thing :  I  will  see  that  Chris- 
topher Wheeler  does  as  little  harm  in  the  world 
as  possible.  Jerome  Kent.  Your  signature, 
you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  my  boy,  what  are  you  going  to  do 
about  this  ?  "  The  question  was  as  sharp  as  a 
sword. 

"To  do?" 

"  Are  you  going  to  keep  your  promise?  " 

"How?" 

Northrop  laid  a  hand,  white,  thin,  blue- 
veined,  on  Jerome's  knee.  The  old  man's  eyes 
glittered  like  stars  under  his  white  eyebrows. 

"  This  man  killed  your  father.  Many  other 
things  he  has  done,  but  this  one  comes  home  to 
you  —  he  killed  your  father.  That  father  you 
have  promised  —  not  to  revenge,  no;  but  to 
justify.     As  long  as  Christopher  Wheeler  re- 


152  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

mains  an  unconvicted  felon,  your  promise  to 
your  father  is  not  kept.  Now  listen.  I  have 
found  out  from  my  superintendent  that  you  are 
a  good  writer  and  a  clever  man.  I  shall  put 
you  on  special  duty  on  the  Eagle  —  the  duty 
of  justifying  your  father.  This  summer  you 
will  train  yourself  for  the  work;  and  in  De- 
cember, when  the  legislature  meets,  you  will  go 
down  to  Springfield  as  assistant  to  our  political 
reporter.  There  it  will  be  your  work  to  watch 
what  Wheeler  and  his  agents  do.  We  will 
keep  an  eye  on  him  up  here.  We  shall  know 
where  he  goes  and  what  he  does  there,  and 
sooner  or  later  we  shall  find  him  doing  some- 
thing wrong.  We  shall  defeat  his  bill ;  perhaps 
we  shall  do  more  than  that.  It  is  quite  within 
the  range  of  possibility  that  we  shall  find  him 
out  utterly  and  send  him  behind  bars.  We  will 
league  ourselves  against  evil  as  evil  leagues  it- 
self against  good,  and  by  one  means  or  another 
we  shall  find  him  out!  "  His  voice  rose  into  a 
cry.  His  eyes  were  like  sparks  on  Jerome's 
face.  For  the  first  time  Jerome  recalled  Nor- 
throp' s  words  of  some  weeks  before  —  perhaps 
this  trailing  of  Wheeler  was  becoming  a  mono- 
mania with  him. 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 53 

"  You  have  come  at  the  nick  of  time,"  the  old 
man  went  on  more  calmly.  "  I  think  Wheeler 
is  failing;  the  luck  is  going  to  turn  against 
him  at  last.  He  has  done  much  harm  while 
you  were  growing  up  to  your  father's  wish, 
but  we  shall  keep  him  from  doing  much  more, 
you  and  I."  His  thin,  delicate  hand  gripped 
Jerome's  knee  with  a  wonderful  force.  "  You 
and  I!    You  and  I!" 

But  the  young  man  was  beginning  to  recover 
his  wits,  swept  almost  away  in  the  suddenness 
of  this  onset.  So  the  chance  had  come  to  ful- 
fil his  old  promise!  Did  he  wish  to  fulfil  it? 
He  thought  of  his  book  which  he  must  aban- 
don; the  thought  clutched  his  heart  with  an 
intensity  perhaps  hard  to  understand.  He 
thought  of  the  strain,  the  unpleasantness,  of 
this  life  suddenly  opened  to  him.  Jerome  was 
no  Sybarite,  but  are  there  many  of  us  to  whom 
the  existence  of  the  detective  appeals  —  after 
we  have  passed  the  boundaries  of  our  sixteenth 
year?  And  this  was  the  life  of  the  detective, 
the  life  of  the  fanatic,  the  life  of  the  blood- 
hound that  offered.  Yet  —  why  had  he  come 
to  Chicago?  Why,  in  all  these  years,  and 
against  his  mother's  wish,  nay,  her  command, 


154  THE    SECOND   GENERATION 

had  he  kept  that  paper  that  rustled  in  the  old 
man's  hand  now,  like  a  live  thing  ?  He  moved 
uneasily  under  the  intensity  of  Northrop' s 
look. 

"  I  must  sleep  on  this,  Mr.  Northrop,"  he 
said  at  last.  "  I  must  wait.  I  will  answer  you 
to-morrow." 

"  Can  you  doubt?  Can  you  hesitate?  "  cried 
Northrop. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Jerome.  "  This  will  rear- 
range my  life.     I  must  think." 

"  Very  well,"  answered  the  old  man,  "  think. 
First  put  that  paper  in  your  hand  —  so.  It  is 
your  father  speaking.     Now  —  think !  " 

Jerome  insisted  on  returning  to  Chicago  that 
afternoon.  The  sight  of  Northrop's  tired, 
keen  old  face  had  suddenly  become  an  irrita- 
tion to  him.  He  could  feel  Northrop's  eyes  al- 
ways upon  him.  He  wanted  to  be  alone.  "  I 
will  tell  you  to-morrow,"  he  repeated,  and  Nor- 
throp, against  his  will,  was  forced  to  yield. 
Jerome  slept  that  night  in  his  own  room. 

Or  rather  he  did  not  sleep,  until  after  two 
o'clock.  When  he  rose  and  had  breakfasted, 
he  began  to  walk  as  usual  toward  the  lake,  re- 
volving the  matter  in  his  mind.     He  thought 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION"  1 55 

constantly  of  Her,  too.  Had  she  gone  vainly, 
yesterday,  to  the  sea-wall,  as  he  had  gone  the 
day  before?  Suddenly  the  promenade  was  be- 
fore him  —  and  there  she  was. 

"  Good  morning! "  He  tried  hard,  but  the 
joy  was  in  his  voice. 

"  Good  morning,  Sir  Galahad."  She  was  as 
gay  as  the  breeze.  Against  her  better  judg- 
ment she  had  come,  and  she  was  glad. 

They  walked  up  and  down  by  the  lake, 
speaking  of  many  things,  infinitesimal  things 
—  the  sunlight  on  the  water,  this  world  of  eat- 
ing and  sleeping  and  drinking,  and  the  city 
about  them ;  but  never  of  themselves.  At  last, 
however,  by  slow,  even  imperceptible  degrees, 
they  grew  personal.  And  at  length  he  opened 
his  heart  to  her. 

"What  should  you  think,"  he  said,  "if  I 
told  you  I  had  given  up  the  book  —  for  a  while, 
at  least?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  exclaimed.    "  You  haven't !  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know."  He  began  to  tell  her 
the  story  of  the  promise  he  had  made  long  ago. 

"  Once,  years  ago,  my  father  and  another 
man  quarrelled.  They  were  both  in  the  wrong, 
perhaps,  but  the  other  man  most.    He  was  go- 


156  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

ing  to  do  something  that  would  ruin  many  peo- 
ple—  his  friends.  They  quarrelled,  and  the 
other  man  struck  my  father.  My  father  was 
not  strong :  he  had  a  disease  of  the  heart.  The 
shock  killed  him,  of  the  quarrel,  and  the  blow, 
and  all  —  not  then,  but  six  months  later.  He 
made  me  promise,  before  he  died,  to  do  all  I 
could  to  keep  the  other  man  from  ruining  any 
more  people.  But  I  was  only  eight  years  old ; 
I  could  do  nothing !  " 

"Oh!"  she  breathed. 

"  Now  —  perhaps  I  can !  " 

Her  face  grew  red,  then  pale.  "  You  will !  " 
she  cried.    "  Sir  Galahad !  " 

"  Oh/'  he  answered  moodily,  "  shall  I  ?  shall 
I  give  up  all  my  own  self  to  be  this  thing,  a  de- 
tective? I  must  leave  my  book;  I  must  leave 
my  leisure ;  I  must  leave  all  my  likes,  and  take 
up  what  I  dislike !  " 

"  That  is  fine,"  she  cried.  "  It  is  like  a  Cru- 
sade !  Oh,  if  I  were  a  man  —  I  would  help 
you!  This  man  —  this  other  man  —  this 
wicked  man  who  killed  your  father;  yes,  yes, 
you  must  keep  him  from  hurting  anybody  else. 
Think  of  having  a  purpose  in  life,  something 
grand  to  do!     It  is  not  revenge  your  father 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 57 

wanted,  I  know,  but  to  have  you  help  other 
people.  He  is  right,  he  is  right !  What  is  your 
book,  when  you  can  live?  I  am  ashamed  of 
you,  Sir  Galahad!  Sir  Galahad  no  more,  un- 
less you  do  this !  "  She  had  never  been  so 
roused,  never  so  beautiful. 

"  But  it  is  not  certain  that  I  shall  succeed/' 
he  said,  not  yet  convinced,  or  not  willing  to 
admit  his  conviction.  "  This  other  man  is 
rich,  he  is  powerful,  he  is  unscrupulous,  they 
say.    I  may  give  it  all  up  and  yet  fail." 

"  Never  mind,"  she  exclaimed.  "  You  will 
have  tried,  and  you  will  not  fail.  Who  is  he, 
Sir  Galahad,  this  other  man  ?  "  Ah,  that  she 
might  have  guessed  before! 

"  Christopher  Wheeler,"  he  said  simply. 

The  training  that  a  girl  receives  is  perhaps 
the  most  wonderfully  conceived  of  all  edu- 
cations in  the  world.  It  is  in  part  the  educa- 
tion of  the  connoisseur,  and  in  part  the  training 
of  the  Indian :  the  cultivation  of  the  nerves  to 
receive  the  most  poignant  sensations  of  pain, 
and  of  the  mind  and  muscles  to  hide  their  pres- 
ence from  the  whole  world.  By  that  single 
name  Ethel  Wheeler's  heart  was  turned  to 
stone ;  her  blood  was  ice  in  her  veins ;  and  yet, 


I58  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

except  for  a  sudden  paleness  of  the  lips  and  a 
sudden  clasping  of  her  fingers,  she  was  as  in- 
expressive as  bronze. 

"  Oh !  "  was  all  she  said. 

"  I  think,"  he  went  on,  "  I  think  —  I  hope  — 
I  should  succeed.    But  I  may  fail." 

She  wondered  how  long  the  pain  would  last. 
"  I  hope,"  she  replied  steadily,  "  that  you  will 
choose  —  for  the  best.  And  now  good-by, 
Sir  — "  She  stopped  midway  of  the  half- 
mocking  title  she  had  used  so  often. 

"Good-by?"  he  demanded.  "Why  — 
what?" 

"  I  am  going  away,"  she  said,  "  to-morrow." 

He  stood  still.    "  For  how  long?  " 

"  Oh,"  she  answered  lightly,  "  always,  I 
think." 

"Always!" 

"  Good-by,"  she  said  again.  Oh,  if  he  would 
but  go  and  leave  her  alone ! 

"  But  —  but  —  "    He  did  not  move. 

"This  has  been  very  romantic,  hasn't  it?" 
she  said.  Her  voice  was  level ;  she  spoke  very 
rapidly  and  did  not  look  at  him.  "  You  see,  I 
always  wanted  to  know  a  man  as  he  really  was ; 
not  the  conventional  kind  of  a  man  who  com- 


THE   SECOND  GENERATION  1 59 

pliments  you  all  the  time,  but  a  man.  So  I 
have  liked  to  know  you,  Sir  —  "  She  broke 
down  upon  the  name  once  more,  but  hur- 
ried on.  "You  have  been  very  good  to  me; 
you  haven't  taken  advantage  —  of  my  speaking 

—  in  this  —  way.  So,  now,  good-by.  Oh,  do 
go! "  she  cried.  Her  whole  heart  was  in  the 
word. 

But  he  only  moved  closer.  "  And  I  ?  How 
do  you  think  I  am  to  endure  —  this  ?  "  he  half 
whispered.  "  I  have  taken  no  advantage;  but 
have  you  given  me  no  rights?  You  know  — 
we  both  know !  When  I  came  here  this  morn- 
ing I  meant  to  tell  you  I  loved  you.  I  tell  you 
now  —  I  love  you,  I  love  you,  I  love  you !  I 
am  Jerome  Kent.    That  is  all  I  have  to  tell  you 

—  just  my  name.  The  rest  of  me  you  know. 
Tell  me  this,  before  you  go  —  do  you  love  me? 
You  have  let  me  love  you  —  Ah,  that  you  must 
have  known !    Do  you  love  me  ?  " 

The  world  seemed  to  be  whirling  about  her. 
"  Oh,  no,  no,  no !  "  she  cried.  "  Please,  please 
go !  Oh,  how  could  you  —  how  could  we  — 
oh,  my  poor,  poor  father !  " 

He  had  no  understanding;  but  he  saw  now 
that  she  was  in  strong  distress.    "  I  will  go !  " 


l60  THE    SECOND   GENERATION 

he  answered.  "  But  I  am  absolved  from  what 
I  promised  you.  I  will  not  let  you  out  of  my 
life.  I  will  find  out  who  you  are,  and  come 
then  and  tell  you  again  what  I  tell  you  now  — 
I  love  you  and  I  always  shall !  " 

"  Ah,  if  you  should  come ! "  she  sobbed. 
"  Promise  me,"  she  asked  wildly,  "  that  you 
never  will ;  that  you  will  never  try  to  find  out 
who  I  am !  " 

I  know  now,"  he  answered  stubbornly. 


"You  know!" 

S4 


No  —  not  your  name,  nor  where  you  live. 
But  I  know  who  you  are  —  you  are  the  girl  I 
love!" 

He  left  her  and  strode  down  the  walk,  while 
she  cried  silently. 

"  Oh,  Sir  Galahad!  Oh,  Sir  Galahad!  "  she 
wept. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Jerome's  interview  with  Northrop  on  the 
same  day  was  sharp  and  decisive. 

"  You  will  take  the  chance,  then  ?  "  the  old 
man  said. 

"  Yes." 

"  You  are  wise,"  commented  Northrop.  "  I 
thought  so." 

The  reasons  which  led  Jerome  to  accept  the 
new  place  were  simple.  He  would  almost  cer- 
tainly have  taken  it  in  any  case.  The  meeting 
by  the  lake  decided  him  finally.  What  he 
wanted  now  was  work.  He  wanted  it  fever- 
ishly. And  yet  he  was  not  wholly  disheartened 
by  what  she  had  said.  He  had  demanded 
whether  she  loved  him,  and  she  answered  no, 
it  is  true;  but  why,  if  she  did  not  care,  had 
she  been  so  troubled  when  she  went  away? 
Jerome's  feelings  moulded  themselves  into  a 
fierce  determination  that  startled  him  —  an  in- 
tensity which  might  have  been  the  direct  inher- 
M  161 


1 62  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

itance  of  his  father.  He  would  become  more 
than  Jerome  Kent,  reporter ;  then  he  would  see 
her  again.  To  his  end  this  was  the  first  step. 
He  was  not  blind  to  the  advantages  of  securing 
Northrop's  interest. 

On  Tuesday,  as  usual,  his  weekly  check  was 
handed  him  when  he  passed  the  cashier's  desk. 
He  looked  at  it  idly  —  twenty  dollars.  Cham- 
bers, then,  was  right,  and  he  had  been  put  upon 
a  salary  at  last ;  and  he  was  pleased  in  spite  of 
himself,  although  events  in  the  last  few  days 
had  so  whirled  him  along  that  the  check 
seemed  a  very  small  matter  now.  He  had  at 
least,  in  his  first  effort,  made  a  good  beginning, 
he  thought,  remembering  that  Chambers  began 
his  servitude  at  fifteen  dollars. 

As  the  days  went  by,  life  took  on  its  old  rou- 
tine. His  ideas  about  abandoning  his  book,  he 
found,  were  mock  heroics ;  he  still  had  his  day 
off,  when  he  might  have  worked.  But  he  sel- 
dom did.  He  preferred,  in  his  restlessness,  long 
walks  about  the  city,  among  the  poor  and  the 
rich,  in  which  he  watched  always  —  for  what  ? 
He  could  hardly  have  told.  Certainly  not  for 
Her;  she  was  gone  away,  she  had  told  him. 
Perhaps  he  watched  for  remembrance.     He 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 63 

found  out  much  about  the  young,  busy,  un- 
washed, giant  of  a  town,  which  has  so  little 
right  yet  to  call  itself  a  city  among  cities,  unless 
impudence  gives  the  claim  of  age,  but  will  not 
wait  for  the  praises  that  energy  is  sure  to  win 
some  time.  The  training  that  Northrop  had 
mentioned  was  already  begun.  The  office  put 
him  on  political  assignments,  sometimes  alone, 
more  often  with  Hanlon,  the  political  editor  — 
to  interview  the  mayor,  or  the  acting-mayor 
when  the  mayor  was  gone  fishing,  as  he  gen- 
erally was;  or  to  find  out,  perhaps,  what  the 
chances  were  for  the  Associated  Charities  Bill 
when  the  Assembly  met;  or  to  pick  up  a  little 
preliminary  gossip  on  the  coming  contest  for 
the  speakership  —  for  the  speaker  of  the  pre- 
vious half  of  the  session  had  died  in  May.  It 
was  a  dull  season,  this  summer;  an  off-year, 
they  called  it.  But  he  came  to  know  Arkell, 
and  Laramie,  who  were  Wheeler's  chief  aides- 
de-camp  in  the  legislature;  and  to  find  out  a 
little  of  the  peculiar  motion  with  which  the 
wheels  of  politics  revolve.  He  had  been  at 
this  work  for  a  month,  and  was  settling  into 
the  grooves,  when  chance,  which  had  let  him 
be  for  a  while,  suddenly  noticed  him  once  more. 


164  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

The  drama  began  in  the  office,  to  which  Je- 
rome returned  about  half-past  ten  o'clock  of 
a  hot  night  in  July.  If  all  that  July  had  not 
been  heated  like  a  furnace,  one  might  have 
supposed  the  night  a  weather-breeder,  as  the 
New  England  word  has  it.  McKinney  seized 
upon  him  when  he  appeared. 

"  See  here,  Kent,"  he  asked,  "  go  with 
Chambers  out  on  the  West  side,  will  you  ?  I've 
just  heard  from  White,  who's  doing  police 
there,  that  a  story  has  broken  loose  on  Adams 
Street  —  a  girl  shot  herself,  or  something.  It 
may  be  good,  and  in  that  case  we  shall  want 
the  story  in  a  hurry ;  so  I'd  like  to  have  the  two 
of  you  there." 

"  I've  just  come  back  from  64th  Street,"  Je- 
rome answered. 

"  Never  mind,"  Chambers  cut  in,  "  come 
along.  Ten  to  one  it's  only  the  old  story,  and 
we  have  our  cab  ride  for  nothing.  Besides,  it's 
not  far." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"  7177''  replied  Chambers. 

"What?"  The  number  awoke  a  reminis- 
cence in  Jerome's  brain,  and  he  laughed.  "  I'll 
go,  of  course," 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 65 

"  I've  been  —  what  do  you  think  ?  "  Cham- 
bers demanded  when  they  were  reclining  in 
their  cab.  "  Hustling  the  hotels  for  tips  — 
no  less.  Trying  to  scare  up  some  sort  of  news 
somewhere.  This  is  the  dullest  summer  in 
years.    Well,  I  prefer  cab  riding." 

When  they  reached  7777  they  found  a  small 
crowd  gathered  before  it,  talking  loudly. 

"  That's  the  window,  the  one  there  with  the 
green  blind."  "No  it  ain't;  it's  the  one  where 
the  curtains  is  down."  "  I  seen  her  come  out  of 
here  yistiddy;  you'd  'a'  thought  she  owned  the 
town,  then."  "  Look  at  them  fellows  goin'  in." 
"  Nawthin'  but  reporters  on  some  paper." 

A  woman,  answering  the  bell  at  last,  ner- 
vously peered  into  their  faces.  Chambers  ex- 
plained who  they  were. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  s'pose  you'll  have  to  come  in," 
she  interrupted.  They  entered,  and  she  shut 
the  door  quickly,  with  an  angry  glance  at  the 
crowd  below.  "  Oh,  yes,  she  killed  herself. 
You  can  see  her,  I  s'pose,  if  you  want  teh." 
Her  voice  shook.  "  Pretty  reputation  it'll  give 
my  house  to  have  ever'body  know  they'se  a 
person  died  here !  Seems  as  if  ever' thing  was 
against  a  woman !  " 


1 66  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

She  led  the  way  upstairs,  her  voice,  lament- 
ing, clamorous  in  the  still  house.  "  Will  any 
more  of  you  men  be  coming?  There  was 
another  here  just  a  few  minutes  ago.  I  de- 
clare it's  a  shame  to  try  and  spoil  folks'  busi- 
ness, putting  things  in  the  papers  about  their 
house.  I'd  'a'  had  this  girl  out  in  two  days, 
too !  "  She  threw  open  a  door.  "Here  — 
she's  in  here." 

"  Hush !  "  said  some  one  within.  A  girl  rose 
from  a  chair  by  the  bed,  hesitating,  shaking. 
"  Oh,  Mrs.  Haines,  don't !  "  Her  voice  trem- 
bled with  fright. 

"  Why,  Miss  Wilcox,  what  you  doin'  here?  " 
the  landlady  demanded,  shocked. 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  leave  her  all  alone!  She 
never  liked  to  be  left  alone !  "  The  girl  swayed, 
and  would  have  fallen  if  Chambers  had  not 
caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"  You  see,"  cried  Mrs.  Haines,  with  triumph 
in  her  voice,  "  I  told  you  how  it  would  be. 
You  ought  to  have  stayed  away  as  I  told  you." 

The  girl  shivered. 

It  was  a  mean  room,  whose  tasteless  wall- 
paper and  cheap  carpet  defied  some  feminine 
attempts  at  adornment  —  the  lithographs,  the 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 67 

muslin  curtains,  the  artificial  flowers  upon  the 
mantelpiece.  A  trunk,  open,  half  packed, 
stood  in  one  corner,  by  a  thin  curtain  which 
swayed  in  some  invisible  draught,  and  caught 
grotesque  shadows  from  the  lamp  upon  the 
table ;  a  dress  or  two,  hanging  behind  it,  were 
startlingly  resemblant  of  human  figures.  For 
a  moment  Jerome  fancied  the  woman  must 
have  hanged  herself  there.  Then  Mrs.  Haines 
turned.  Jerome  followed  her  eyes.  To  him  it 
seemed  the  added  touch  of  horror  that  the  dead 
woman  should  be  lying  on  a  folding  bed. 

He  went  up  to  the  body.  He  had  seen  death 
too  seldom  to  lose  the  awe  it  gives.  It  is  so 
common  a  thing,  death,  that  we  speak  of  it 
without  hesitation  or  fear.  Yet,  to  most  of 
us,  when  we  see  the  dead  face  to  face,  the  mys- 
tery and  magic  of  the  word  returns  —  death ! 
the  easiest,  the  most  awful  of  all  things.  We 
have  all  quoted  the  marvellous  phrase  of  Ham- 
let — "  from  whose  bourne  no  traveller  re- 
turns." It  is  only  as  we  see  the  traveller,  gone 
upon  his  journey,  that  we  have  an  inkling  of 
the  phrase's  meaning.    So  with  Jerome. 

"  I  thought  she  shot  herself?  "  he  said,  under 
his  breath. 


1 68  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

"  No  —  poison/'  the  landlady  answered  with 
a  sniff.  "  There's  the  bottle  on  the  mantel.  I 
took  it  off  the  bed." 

Jerome  bent  over.  A  faint  sweetish,  sickish 
odour  was  in  his  nostrils.  The  woman's  night- 
dress lay  open  at  her  throat.  She  was  Jewish, 
and  had  been  pretty.  Above  her  right  eye  ap- 
peared a  little  scar,  like  a  heart.  He  felt  very 
sick.  It  was  for  this  she  had  given  him  her 
name  and  her  address,  the  girl  at  the  John 
Kocynski  School. 

"Why  did  she  do  it?" 

The  landlady  stared.  Chambers,  who  had 
followed  to  the  bed,  put  his  hand  on  Jerome's 
arm  and  looked  around  quickly  for  little  Miss 
Wilcox;  but  she  had  her  arm  over  her  eyes, 
crying  quietly,  and  did  not  notice.  "  That  girl 
oughtn't  to  be  here,"  he  insisted  abruptly  in  a 
low  tone.  "  Find  out  what  you  can,  while  I 
take  care  of  her."  Chambers  went  up  to  Miss 
Wilcox  and  touched  her  gently  on  the  shoulder. 
"  You  mustn't  do  this,"  he  said,  "  you  will  be 
sick.    Let  me  take  you  out." 

"Oh,  I  can't,  I  can't!"  she  cried.  "You 
will  leave  her  alone!  She  never  wanted  to  be 
left  alone!" 


THE    SECOND   GENERATION  169 

"  You  must/'  he  said  sternly.  "  I  promise 
you  she  shall  not  be  left  alone.  Come."  She 
looked  up  at  him,  her  breast  heaving;  he  kept 
his  eyes  on  hers,  and  in  a  moment  she  rose  sub- 
missively and  followed  him  out. 

"Well,  ain't  you  most  through?"  ques- 
tioned Mrs.  Haines,  querulously. 

"  Her  name  ?  "  Jerome  asked,  hesitating. 

"  Goldberg— Etta  Goldberg."  Mrs.  Haines 
mingled  her  information  with  her  laments. 
Yes,  the  girl  was  a  teacher,  or  had  been.  She'd 
had  a  good  deal  of  money,  a  time  back,  appar- 
ently ;  paid  her  board  regular.  "  But  Monday 
I  told  her  she  was  to  pack.  I  was  goin'  to  put 
her  right  out  Friday,  but  she  said  her  money 
was  gone,  and  she  begged,  so  I  let  her  stay. 
An'  this  is  what  she  does  for  me,"  concluded 
Mrs.  Haines.  "  How'm  I  going  to  let  this 
room,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  Oh,  you  can  say  peo- 
ple won't  know,  but  they  find  it  out.  D'you 
think  anybody  wants  to  sleep  in  them  sheets  ?  " 

"  You  say  she  had  no  money,"  Jerome  went 
on.    "  That  was  why  she  killed  herself,  then?  " 

Mrs.  Haines  laughed  harshly.  "  D'you  say 
you're  a  reporter?"  she  asked.  "Yes;  that 
was  why." 


170  THE    SECOND   GENERATION 

He  would  have  pressed  her  further,  but  at 
that  moment  a  heavy  wagon,  driving  up  with  a 
rattle,  stopped  before  the  house. 

"  It's  the  police,  at  last/'  she  announced, 
going  to  the  door.  "  Well,  it's  about  time  they 
came."  Jerome,  looking  by  the  curtain,  saw 
that  a  yet  larger  crowd  had  collected  about  the 
ambulance.  Two  big  blue-uniformed  Irish- 
men pounded  upstairs,  eyed  him  closely,  and 
then  wrapped  the  dead  woman  in  a  quilt.  One 
of  them  bore  it  downstairs  like  a  baby;  the 
quilt  trailed  between  his  feet  so  that  he  swore. 
Yet  he  was  not  rough ;  he  stepped  carefully,  if 
heavily ;  and  he  had  stopped  to  cover  the  face. 

Chambers  joined  Jerome  in  the  hall,  and  they 
followed  the  policemen  out. 

"  Did  you  get  the  details?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  answered  Jerome.  "  I  don't 
know." 

"  I  know  how  you  feel,  old  man.  New  to 
you,  isn't  it  ?  Having  the  other  little  girl  there 
made  it  worse,  of  course  —  and  then  the 
Haines  woman.  She  was  pretty,  don't  you 
think?" 

"  Yes  —  she  had  been." 

"  Of  course  you  hardly  had  a  chance  to  see 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  171 

her.  But  I  could  tell  that  when  she  hadn't 
been  crying  she  was  pretty  —  especially  her 
eyes." 

"  Crying?  "  Jerome  stared.  "  What  are  you 
talking  about  ?  " 

"Why,  about  the  little  girl  — Miss  Wil- 
cox." 

"  Oh !  "  answered  Jerome.  "  I  meant  the 
other  one."     They  were  silent  awhile. 

"  Well,"  remarked  Chambers,  finally,"  it's  as 
I  thought ;  we've  had  our  cab  ride  for  nothing, 
and  that's  all." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Chambers  lit  another  cigarette.  "  No  story 
there,  of  course;  two  sticks,  maybe,  but  I 
doubt  it.    It  happens  every  day." 

"  I'm  not  sure  yet  why  she  killed  herself," 
pondered  Jerome.     "  Of  course  —  " 

"  Couldn't  you  see?  "  interrupted  Chambers. 

"Ah!" 

"  Oh,  the  world  is  full  of  brutes,"  commented 
Chambers,  cynically.  "  Wait  for  me  while  I 
write  this,  will  you  ?  " 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  old  man,"  Jerome  an- 
swered, "  I  won't.  I'm  a  little  upset,  and  I'm 
going  to  walk  around  awhile." 


172  THE    SECOND   GENERATION 

"All  right,"  replied  Chambers,,  sympathet- 
ically. 

The  thought  of  his  room  made  Jerome  rest- 
less. He  was  too  hot  and  too  disturbed  to 
sleep.  He  walked  north,  toward  the  sea-wall. 
The  moon  was  dead,  and  the  stars  gave  little 
light  on  the  quiet  and  solitary  streets.  When 
he  reached  the  lake  he  stood  wondering  for 
some  time.  Where  was  She,  who  had  walked 
with  him  there  so  often,  and  when  should  he 
see  her  again?    After  a  while  he  turned  back. 

On  his  way  home  his  steps  led  him  by 
Wheeler's  house.  The  misshapen  mansion 
sprawled  on  one  of  those  short  side  streets  be- 
tween State  and  the  lake,  whose  topography  is 
best  known  by  grocery  wagons  and  the  coach- 
men of  the  rich.  It  was  after  midnight,  and 
there  was  no  light  about  the  place,  which 
bulked  dimly  among  its  neighbours.  Jerome 
leaned  against  the  iron  fence  and  contemplated 
the  house.  There  lay  the  man  whom  he  was 
to  oppose  all  his  life  long.  The  man  had  never 
heard  of  him;  would  not  care  if  he  did  hear. 
A  little  of  the  excitement  of  chase  crept  into 
Jerome's  heart.  It  was  odd  that  in  all  his  rest- 
less imaginings  —  and  he  lived  for  more  than 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 73 

half  his  life  in  his  mind  —  the  thought  of 
Wheeler  as  a  man  had  never  come  to  him. 
The  banker  —  banker  no  longer  now  —  was  a 
presence,  a  sort  of  embodied  villany  he  was  to 
overcome,  if  he  could.  He  felt  no  animosity 
against  him. 

As  he  leaned  there,  watching  the  quiet  house, 
some  one,  somewhere,  cried  "  Help  I"  —  a 
man's  voice,  half  muffled.  Jerome  listened  in- 
tently. There  was  nothing  more.  He  began 
to  run  as  hard  as  he  could  toward  the  place 
whence  he  fancied  the  sound.  Suddenly  he 
turned  a  corner,  and  in  the  darkness  could  just 
make  out  two  men  bending  over  a  third.  They 
ran  at  his  quick  footsteps;  he  pursued  a  little 
way  and  then  returned.  As  he  stooped  to  pick 
the  figure  up,  the  man  stirred  and  groaned. 
Then  he  sat  up,  and  his  eyes  fell  upon  Jerome. 

"  Ah,  would  you !  "  he  said  thickly. 

"  What's  been  happening?  Are  you  hurt?  " 
demanded  Jerome.  The  man  put  his  hand  to 
his  head,  and  took  it  away  stupidly. 

"Hey?" 

"Can  you  get  up?"  He  tried  to  help  the 
other  to  his  feet ;  after  a  struggle  the  man  was 
up.     He  was  very  large,  ponderous  in  every 


174  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

limb.  The  light  from  a  street  lamp  fifty  feet 
away  fell  upon  his  bleeding  face.  It  was  Chris- 
topher Wheeler. 

"  Held  up,  by  G d,"  he  said.    "  Held  up 

on  my  own  doorstep."  He  seemed  to  under- 
stand now  that  Jerome  had  come  like  the  good 
Samaritan,  and  he  was  disposed  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  opportunity.  He  put  his  hand  on 
Jerome's  shoulder. 

"  Take  me  home,  young  man,"  he  said. 
"  You'll  not  lose  by  it.  They  hit  me  on  the 
head,"  he  explained.  "  They'd  have  done  for 
me,  if  I'd  been  any  other  man.  But  Chris  is 
too  tough  for  any  of  'em."  He  mumbled  to 
himself,  his  brain  apparently  upset  by  the 
shock.  "  Blood  all  over  me ! "  he  cried  sud- 
denly.    He  was  nearly  right. 

The  two  held  a  fairly  steady  course  for 
Wheeler's  house,  though  the  old  man  stumbled 
frequently,  and  clutched  at  Jerome  for  support. 
When  they  reached  the  door  Jerome  would 
have  rung,  but  Wheeler  prevented  him. 

"  No  —  this  way,"  he  said,  fumbling  for  his 
latch-key. 

"  But  you  will  want  help,"  Jerome  protested. 
"  The  servants." 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 75 

"  To  h 1  with  'em,"  replied  the  old  man. 

"  What's  your  name?  " 

"  Never  mind,"  answered  Jerome.  "  Call 
me  Smith." 

"  's  that  your  name?" 

"  Maybe.  I'll  say  good  night  now,  Mr. 
Wheeler.  But  you'd  better  let  me  ring  for  the 
servants." 

"  Here,"  said  Wheeler,  imperiously.  He  was 
still  fumbling  helplessly  for  his  pocket-book 
when  Jerome  passed  out  of  sight.  At  length 
he  desisted,  and  stared  into  the  darkness. 
"  Gone !  "  he  thought.  "  That  was  one  of  'em, 
I'll  bet."  He  staggered  to  the  steps,  for  physi- 
cally no  braver  man  existed  than  Christopher 
Wheeler.  He  meant  pursuit.  But  at  once  he 
realized  the  futility  of  it.  It  was  by  an  effort 
only  that  he  got  into  the  house. 

Meanwhile  the  unconscious  Jerome  passed 
the  scene  of  the  robbery.  He  stood  there  a  few 
minutes,  thinking  of  the  encounter.  "  It's  a 
pity  they  didn't  hit  him  harder,"  he  thought, 
"  and  end  it  all."  Then  he  walked  on.  As  he 
passed  under  the  street  lamp  something  on  the 
sidewalk  caught  his  eye,  and  he  picked  it  up. 
An  open  pocket-book !    He  examined  it  hastily 


I76  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

by  the  lamplight.  There  was  nothing  there; 
the  pocket-book  was  empty.  He  took  a  few 
steps  toward  Wheeler's  house  and  then  he 
paused,  struck  for  the  first  time  by  the  fact  that 
this  robbery  was  news,  and  if  he  was  quick  the 
Eagle  could  make  a  "  scoop."  Looking  at  his 
watch  he  found  it  was  nearly  one  o'clock,  and 
he  began  to  run  toward  the  office.  He  could  re- 
turn the  pocket-book  in  the  morning. 

When  he  reached  the  office,  Adams,  the  night 
city  editor,  asked  at  once,  — 

"What's  up?" 

"  Christopher  Wheeler  was  held  up  half  an 
hour  ago  in  front  of  his  own  house." 

"Sure?" 

"  I  got  there  a  minute  later." 

"  Who  was  with  you?  " 

"  Nobody." 

"Old  man  hurt?" 

u  Quite  a  goodish  bit." 

"  Is  it  a  scoop?" 

"  It  surely  is,"  laughed  Jerome,  "  unless  the 
boys  that  held  him  up  were  reporters.  There 
was  nobody  else  there." 

"  Rush  it  through,"  commanded  Adams. 
"  Give  it  half  a  column."    He  whistled  through 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 77 

a  tube.     "  Oh,  Mac!    Kill  that  dog  story  for 

the  second  edition;   I've  got  something  better. 

John,"  he  cried  to  the  office  boy,  "  look  up  that 

double  column  cut  of  Wheeler."    Jerome  was 

already  deep  in  his  story.     They  took  it  page 

by  page  as  he  wrote  it.     When  he  finished  the 

fifth  the  first  had  been  long  in  type.    He  went 

for  a  sandwich  and  a  cup  of  coffee  at  half-past 

two,  and  by  the  time  he  had  finished,  the  great 

presses  were  clattering  off  thousands  of  copies 

of 

"  BOSS  "  WHEELER  HELD  UP. 

THE    PROPRIETOR    OF    UNION    GAS 

BEATEN  AND  ROBBED  ON  HIS 

DOORSTEP. 

THIEVES      ESCAPE      WITH      THEIR 

PLUNDER. 

By  the  time  that  Christopher  Wheeler  had  sunk 
into  an  uneasy  sleep,  the  early  birds  in  their 
night-shelters  were  reading  of  his  misadven- 
ture. 

The  scamper  of  his  effort  to  get  his  news  in 
print  kept  Jerome  thoroughly  awake.  When 
he  reached  his  room  the  dawn  was  stealing  into 
the  window,  but  he  was  not  sleepy  yet.  He 
lighted  the  gas  and  drew  out  Wheeler's  pocket- 


I78  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

book.  It  was  bulky,  red  and  coarse-grained, 
opulent  and  imposing  —  like  its  owner.  As  he 
observed  it,  Jerome  noticed  what  had  before 
escaped  him  —  two  or  three  compartments  still 
unopened.  He  looked  in  one  —  no  money,  but 
papers.  And  then  a  strong  temptation  assailed 
him  —  to  examine  these  papers  which  fate  had 
tossed  in  his  way. 

The  revulsion  against  the  idea  came  almost 
simultaneously.  That  would  be  a  detective's 
work  indeed.  And  yet —  How  far  was  he 
bound  by  the  promise  he  had  made  to  Nor- 
throp, and,  further  back,  by  the  promise  he 
had  made  to  his  father?  What  would  his 
father  or  Northrop  do,  if  chance  threw  in  their 
way  an  opportunity  like  this  ?  He  did  not  need 
to  ask  the  question.  But  they  were  fanatics, 
he  thought.  Should  he  be  a  fanatic  too  ?  Cer- 
tainly to  examine  this  pocket-book  would  be  a 
sneaking  thing  to  do  —  like  opening  a  man's 
mail.  Suppose,  as  was  wholly  probable,  there 
was  nothing  of  importance  in  it,  he  would  part 
with  his  own  self-respect  and  get  nothing  in 
return;  Esau  and  the  mess  of  pottage.  On 
the  other  hand,  had  he  the  right  to  let  the  op- 
portunity slip  ?    An  easy  way  out  would  be  to 


THE   SECOND  GENERATION  1 79 

keep  the  pocket-book  intact  and  carry  it  to  Nor- 
throp in  the  morning,  leaving  the  burden  of  the 
decision  with  him.  But  that  would  be  to  decide 
himself,  nevertheless.  Jerome  was  sure  Nor- 
throp would  look  the  thing  over.  Northrop 
had  called  him  "  Hamlet "  two  months  before. 
Was  he  such  a  man,  hesitating,  indecisive? 
With  a  sudden  resolution  he  spread  the  papers 
out  on  the  table.  Out  of  the  mists  of  the  past 
he  had  seen  his  father's  face,  keen,  thin,  deter- 
mined, a  man  who  might  be  right  or  wrong, 
but  who  could  choose,  at  least,  a  path  for  him- 
self, and  follow  it,  a  man  who  could  shut  his 
eyes  to  the  technicalities  of  honour  when  he  was 
doing  what  he  conceived  to  be  his  duty.  Je- 
rome took  the  old,  yellowish,  written  promise 
out,  and  laid  it  on  the  table,  to  strengthen  his 
own  determination. 

The  papers  seemed  after  all  to  be  nothing  of 
importance.  The  first  was  covered  with  fig- 
ures in  a  careless  hand.  There  was  not  a  word 
on  it ;  he  thankfully  laid  it  aside.  The  second 
was  a  memorandum  of  engagements,  half  intel- 
ligible; names  upon  it  that  we  all  know  and 
names  never  heard  of  —  politicians,  merchants, 
nobodies.    There  was  material  in  it,  perhaps, 


l80  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

for  a  dozen  romances,  but  nothing  to  reveal 
Wheeler's  acts,  and  he  laid  that  aside  also. 
The  third  and  fourth  were  letters  which  he 
read  conscientiously  through.  They  confirmed 
Northrop's  statement  that  Wheeler  was  specu- 
lating—  that  was  all.  He  put  them  aside. 
The  fifth,  he  saw  with  a  feeling  of  relief,  was 
the  last.  He  unfolded  it  —  only  a  list  of 
names.  They  were  alphabetically  arranged,  he 
noted,  beginning  with  Acker  and  ending  with 
Wilcox;  there  were  many  between,  written 
very  small  and  close  together  in  a  thin,  fine 
hand.  Then  he  observed  that  each  name  bore 
a  note,  in  a  different  hand  from  the  body  of  the 
writing.  Most  were  merely  "  O.  K."  or 
"  N.  G." ;  but  in  many  cases  there  were  figures, 
from  500  up,  written  thus :  500 (  ?).  The  whole 
list  puzzled  him.  Then,  as  he  began  to  read 
the  names,  a  light  came  to  him.  Here,  far  up 
on  the  list,  was  Arkell  —  he  knew  that  name. 
"  O.  K."  was  opposite  it.  Jerome  searched 
among  the  Ls.  There  was  Laramie,  as  he  had 
expected  —  also  "  O.  K.'d."  He  looked  for 
Morton,  and  Wellington,  and  Powelton  —  all 
names  he  knew  —  and  found  them.  He  knew 
now  that  this  was  a  list  of  the  members  of  the 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  l8l 

state  legislature,  annotated  in  the  handwrit- 
ing of  Wheeler. 

Abruptly  he  tossed  the  paper  back  upon  the 
table,  and  went  to  bed.  This  might  mean 
something  or  nothing,  but  at  least  he  was  sick 
of  the  whole  matter.  He  had  committed  him- 
self now.  In  the  morning  he  would  carry  the 
affair  to  Northrop  and  turn  over  the  responsi- 
bility. He  slept,  after  a  time.  In  the  morning, 
as  he  planned,  he  took  the  pocket-book  to  Nor- 
throp. The  old  man  seized  upon  the  list  like  a 
hawk.  The  same  extraordinary  fierceness  was 
in  his  eyes  as  had  shone  there  when  he  bound 
Jerome  to  keep  his  old  promise. 

"  Of  course/'  he  cried,  "  this  is  important." 
He  demanded  the  story  of  how  Jerome  had 
come  by  it,  and  listened  eagerly.  He  called  up 
Hanlon,  the  political  editor. 

(This  man  needs, perhaps, some  introduction. 

He  was  a  Chicagoan  when  he  was  christened 
James  Joseph  Hanlon.  He  had  received  his 
education  in  Chicago;  he  expected  to  die  in 
Chicago.  He  had  come  on  the  Eagle  as  mes- 
senger boy,  and  when  he  speedily  earned  the 
distinction  of  being  the  only  boy  on  the  paper 
who  never  needed  to  be  sent  back  to  correct 


l82  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

mistakes,  he  was  transferred  to  the  reporters' 
room.  There  in  a  short  time  he  was  detailed 
to  assist  the  "  city  hall  man."  He  was  then 
twenty-one.  At  twenty-five  Mr.  James  Han- 
Ion,  city  hall  man,  was  one  day  called  into  the 
office  of  the  managing  editor.  He  impercept- 
ibly adjusted  his  tie,  flicked  imaginary  dust 
from  his  coat  sleeve,  and  responded. 

"  You  know,  Mr.  Hanlon,"  said  the  manag- 
ing editor,  formally,  "  that  our  political  man  is 
leaving  us.  We  hope  that  you  will  take  up  his 
work  on  Monday.  The  salary  will  be  sixty-five 
dollars  a  week." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Latham,"  answered  Han- 
lon.    "  But  I  am  afraid  I  can't  do  that." 

"Why  not?" 

"  The  Eagle  is  Republican.  I  am  a  Demo- 
crat." 

"  Why,  you  harebrained  Irishman,"  snarled 
the  managing  editor,  "  will  being  a  Democrat 
keep  you  from  getting  the  news?" 

"  Not  at  all." 

"  Then  get  it  —  and  we'll  attend  to  the  pol- 
icy at  this  end.    Is  that  satisfactory?  " 

"  Quite  so,  Mr.  Latham."  He  bowed  and 
went  out.  The  managing  editor  turned  to  his 
secretary. 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 83 

"  One  of  us  two,"  he  remarked,  looking  after 
Hanlon,  "  was  born  in  Boston  and  got  a  degree 
from  Harvard  College;  and  one  was  born  on 
Blue  Island  Avenue,  and  got  a  degree  from 
the  West  Division  High  School.  But  which, 
Frank?  "  The  secretary  wisely  refrained  from 
answering. ) 

Mr.  Hanlon  found  the  proprietor  of  the 
Eagle  in  company  with  Kent.  "  What's  up?  " 
he  wondered;   but  he  said  nothing. 

"  Read  that."  Northrop  thrust  the  list  at 
him. 

"  List  of  the  state  legislature,"  answered 
Hanlon,  in  a  moment. 

"Anything  else?" 

"  Well,  Mr.  Northrop,"  he  answered  delib- 
erately, "  it  looks  like  a  kind  of  prophecy  about 
the  attitude  of  the  different  members  on  some 
question." 

"  Do  you  know  the  handwriting  those  notes 
are  in?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  It  is  Christopher  Wheeler's.  Compare  it 
with  these." 

Hanlon  did  so,  his  eyes  lighting.  "  It  is  his, 
no  doubt,"  he  replied  presently.     "  Mr.  Nor- 


184  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

throp,  this  is  very  valuable.  May  I  ask  where 
you  got  it?  " 

"  Kent  found  it."  Northrop  told  the  story, 
which  Hanlon  received  impassively.  He  had 
read  in  the  Eagle  that  morning  of  Wheeler's 
robbery.  He  knew,  though  vaguely,  that  Kent 
was  detailed  to  assist  him,  particularly  in  the 
Wheeler  case.  Now  he  was  wondering  at  the 
boldness  with  which  Kent  put  forward  this 
flimsy  tale  to  account  for  the  possession  of  the 
pocket-book.  He  admired  the  nerve  which 
would  go  to  any  lengths,  even  of  assault,  pos- 
sible murder,  in  the  good  cause.  But  he 
thought  young  Kent  ought  to  invent  a  better 
yarn. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "this  is  very  important. 
Now  what  I  should  do  is  this  —  keep  it  dark 
for  the  present;  destroy  that  pocket-book,  or 
hold  it,  at  least,  and  say  nothing.  Meanwhile, 
have  a  full-page  facsimile  made  of  this  list. 
You  see,  it's  worth  absolutely  nothing  in  a 
court.  It's  no  evidence  at  all  —  just  a  few 
figures.  But  hold  it  till  the  legislature  meets; 
hold  it  till  everything's  on  a  strain;  the  public 
excited  over  the  gas-bills,  and  the  legislature 
on  the  qui  vive  to  find  who  is  crooked  —  if 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 85 

anybody  is.  Then  publish  your  facsimile.  Do 
you  think  there  is  one  of  these  men  marked 
with  figures  who  won't  squirm  out  of  voting 
for  the  bill  ?  It  would  be  as  much  as  their  life 
is  worth,  some  of  them.  More  than  that  — 
they'll  see  how  each  one  is  rated.  Of  course 
you  understand  these  amounts  don't  stand  for 
so  much  money  paid  over.  But  they  give  a 
basis  of  comparison  anyway.  The  little  fellows 
will  want  more,  but  it  will  be  too  late  then; 
and  they'll  change  their  votes  out  of  spite,  if 
they  wouldn't  for  their  constituents.  Between 
this  thing  and  that  thing,  the  facsimile,  if  we 
bring  it  out  at  the  right  time,  will  kill  that  bill 
and  bury  it  miles  deep." 

"  But  isn't  it  possible,"  demanded  Northrop, 
his  eyes  devouring  the  paper,  "  to  indict  — 
using  this  as  a  basis?  " 

"  No,  sir.  You  might  consult  a  lawyer,  if 
you  want.  But  it's  waste  paper,  if  you  try  to 
use  it  that  way." 

When  Hanlon  had  gone,  Northrop  turned 
to  Jerome. 

"  I  shall  destroy  the  pocket-book,"  he  said, 
almost  in  a  whisper.  "  It  might  turn  up  at  any 
time,  and  spoil  our  plan."    His  fingers,  thinner 


1 86  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

than  ever,  worked  nervously.  "  Is  it  empty?  " 
He  pulled  it  open  once  more,  searching  every 
nook  in  it.  Suddenly  he  came  upon  still  an- 
other compartment,  cunningly  hidden  in  one 
cover.  "  Ah !  "  He  had  something.  His  fine, 
delicate  old  face  sharpened  as  he  drew  it  out. 
But  it  was  only  a  small  photograph  of  a  girl. 
"  '  Ethel ! '  "  he  read  on  the  back.  "  '  To  my 
dear  father ! '  Poor  girl,  poor  girl !  By  God's 
grace,  my  dear,  we'll  destroy  some  of  your 
father's  schemes  now !  " 

"  Let  me  see  it,  please,"  asked  Jerome. 
What  was  the  daughter  of  this  man  like  ?  Nor- 
throp handed  it  to  him,  and  he  saw  Her. 

"  I  must  have  this,"  he  said  at  last,  with  an 
effort.    "  Treasure-trove." 

"  Better  destroy  it,"  counselled  the  old  man, 
keenly.    But  Jerome  took  it  away. 

When  he  had  gone  Northrop  burnt  the  pa- 
pers and  the  pocket-book  in  the  grate,  with  a 
smell  of  charring  leather.  The  room  was  al- 
ready warm,  but  he  hung  over  the  little  blaze 
with  his  hands  to  it.  Then  he  spread  the  list 
out  on  his  desk  and  examined  it  for  a  long 
time.  His  enemy  —  for  such  he  had  grown  to 
feel  that  Wheeler  was  —  lay  in  his  hands; 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 87 

they  were  tense  to  seize  their  prey.  He  sat  so 
long  without  ringing  his  bell  that  the  watchful 
Robert,  without,  dominating  the  roomful  of 
those  who  waited,  grew  fearful  of  something 
wrong,  and  —  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  — 
opened  the  door  before  the  summons  came. 
Northrop  was  sitting  still  at  his  desk,  his  eyes 
glowing  as  he  turned  his  head.  Robert  hastily 
drew  back. 

"  Is  dere  sumfin  gone  wrong  with  Mistah 
Northrop  ?  "  he  speculated.  But  in  a  few  mo- 
ments the  little  bell  of  the  private  office  rang  as 
usual,  and  the  stream  of  callers  began  to  flow 
once  more. 


CHAPTER  IX 

The  summer  waned ;  the  scorching  July  was 
followed  by  a  cool  August,  in  which  the  city's 
fifteen  thousand  who  do  not  go  to  the  moun- 
tains or  the  seashore  rejoiced,  and  the  news- 
papers bragged  of  Chicago  as  a  "  Resort." 
Jerome  worked  hard,  even  fiercely.  There  was 
nothing  to  do,  and  yet  some  devil  was  in  him, 
driving  him  on.  When  he  had  taken  the  little 
picture  home  he  had  placed  it  on  his  table  and 
stared  at  it  a  long  time,  seeing  more  than  the 
graceful  turn  of  the  head,  the  clear  eyes,  and  the 
strong  lines  of  the  mouth.  He  saw  a  girl  in 
white,  who  told  him  she  loved  the  violets  that  he 
had  spoken  of;  who  knew  his  heart,  all  of  it  — 
and  knew  that  it  was  hers.  He  saw  her  again, 
and  she  was  running  like  a  child,  her  face  gay 
with  laughter.  He  saw  her  again,  and  she  was 
crying  as  though  her  heart  would  break.  Then 
he  saw  her  no  more,  but  put  his  face  down  on 
his  arms.     When  he  rose,  he  put  the  picture 

1S8 


THE    SECOND   GENERATION  1 89 

away.  Never,  during  all  the  months,  did  he 
look  at  it  again. 

Late  in  August  Chambers  came  into  his 
room  one  night  when  they  had  walked  up  from 
the  office  together.  Since  Jerome  had  taken 
Chambers's  advice  about  the  clothes,  that  eager 
journalist  had  regarded  himself  as  the  mentor 
regularly  appointed  of  this  big,  quiet  young 
man,  whom  in  the  warmth  of  his  heart  he  soon 
began  to  love  like  a  brother.  He  deluged  Je- 
rome with  advice  in  season  and  out  of  season 
—  advice  on  work,  advice  on  recreation,  on 
how  to  spend  his  money  and  how  to  save  it, 
on  women,  on  politics,  and  on  art.  He  was  so 
happy  in  giving  it  and  so  pleased  when  any 
of  it  was  carried  into  action  by  Jerome,  that 
to  the  latter  Chambers  was  the  single  spot  of 
brightness  in  the  dreary  days.  But  to-night 
the  young  reporter  seemed  moody;  his  cheer- 
ful rattling  talk  was  subdued  into  abstraction. 

"  Did  you  ever  think,  Kent,"  he  asked  at 
length,  "  what  a  devil  of  a  poor  excuse  a  board- 
ing house  is  for  a  home  ?  " 

"  Did  you  ever  think,"  Jerome  responded, 
"  how  poor  we  devils  are  who  live  in  them?  " 

"  Not   so  poor,"    Chambers   retorted   with 


190  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

spirit.  "  I'm  getting  thirty  a  week;  that's  fif- 
teen hundred  a  year.  You're  drawing  twenty- 
five,  aren't  you?  that's  twelve-fifty.  There's 
many  and  many  a  boy  in  Chicago  who  would 
be  in  heaven  to  draw  half  as  much  as  either  of 
us." 

"  If  you  drew  half  as  much,"  Jerome  an- 
swered idly,  "  with  your  ideas  in  food  and 
drink,  Will,  heaven  would  be  the  only  place  for 
you.    You  couldn't  live  on  earth." 

"  Now  come  off/'  Chambers  cried.  "  I  save 
regularly." 

"How  much?" 

"  Five  dollars  a  week,"  admitted  Chambers. 
"  But  I  could  save  twenty  just  as  well." 

"  Just  as  well,"  Jerome  agreed,  "  in  heaven." 

"  Now,  look  here,"  asserted  the  mentor,  fig- 
uring on  the  edge  of  a  newspaper.  "  I  pay, 
counting  in  my  dinners  down  town,  ten  dollars 
a  week  for  my  board  and  room.  Two  hundred 
and  fifty  a  year  for  clothes  —  and  that's  out- 
side, clear  outside  —  is  five  dollars  a  week 
more.  There  you  have  everything  —  board, 
rent,  clothes,  for  just  half  my  salary." 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  if  one  can  live  on  half  a  salary,  two 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  I9I 

can  live  on  the  whole  of  it.  Jerome,"  he  broke 
out  suddenly,  "  let's  get  married." 

"To  each  other?" 

Chambers  passed  the  flippancy  in  high  si- 
lence. 

"What  do  you  say?" 

"  No,  thank  you,"  replied  Jerome,  tranquilly, 
wondering  whether  the  rush  of  blood  in  his 
veins  was  really  like  a  river. 

"  Oh,   the  d 1 !  "   exclaimed   Chambers. 

"  I  forgot  the  laundry." 

"  Don't  wash,"  suggested  Jerome. 

"  But  we  could  work  it  in  on  the  clothes  al- 
lowance." 

"We?" 

"  You  and  I,"  explained  Chambers,  red  to 
the  roots  of  his  hair. 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course,  you  and  I."  Jerome 
was  observant  of  nothing.  "  You  could  wear 
clothes,  and  I  could  wash." 

"  Good  night,"  said  Chambers.  But  the 
next  evening,  about  one  o'clock,  he  came  rush- 
ing in  again,  surprising  Jerome  in  his  favourite 
occupation  of  nights  —  thinking,  thinking, 
thinking.  "  Put  it  there,  old  man,"  the  boy 
cried,  holding  out  his  hand,  "  I'm  engaged." 


192  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

He  was  too  pleased  with  himself  and  the 
world  to  sit  still;  he  roamed  about  the  tiny 
room,  knocking  over  this  and  that  and  apolo- 
gizing without  interruption  in  his  stream  of 
talk. 

"  I  thought  I  was  immune,"  he  said;  "but 
I've  got  it  bad,  Jerome.  The  first  time  I  saw 
her,  you  know,  I  thought  that  she  was  a 
plucky  little  woman;  but  afterward,  when 
I  saw  how  much  there  was  in  her,  well,  I 
thought,  Bill  Chambers,  if  you're  a  man  at  all, 
you'll  freeze  to  this  girl,  if  you  can  get  her. 
Last  night  I  just  had  to  say  something  about  it 
to  you ;  but  those  figures  cooled  me  down  so  I 
didn't  think  I'd  ever  get  back  to  the  point  of 
asking  her.  I  went  over  there  to-night,  and,  by 
George !  I  hadn't  been  there  ten  minutes  when 
—  well,  put  it  there,  Jerome." 

Jerome  did  so  once  more.  "  But  who, 
Will?" 

Chambers  laughed.  "  Don't  you  know  yet? 
I  thought  I'd  said  her  name  a  dozen  times,  but 
maybe  it  was  just  the  sound  of  it  in  my  own 
ears.  Her  name's  Mary  —  Mary  Wilcox,  and 
you've  seen  her." 

"I?" 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 93 

"  Don't  you  remember  the  night  we  went 
over  on  West  Adams  about  six  weeks  ago  ?  " 

"  Oh !  the  little  girl  who  cried !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Chambers,  proudly.  "  The  lit- 
tle girl  who  cried,  and  wouldn't  leave  another 
girl  who  was  dead,  because  the  other  never 
liked  to  be  left  alone !  I  hate  to  think  of  that 
night  except  for  that  one  thing.  How  plucky 
she  was!  "    His  eyes  kindled. 

"  Are  you  thinking  of  getting  married 
soon?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Give  me  time  to  breathe, 
Jerry!  why,  I've  only  been  engaged  three 
hours  —  or  maybe  five.  I've  got  to  be  sub- 
mitted to  the  old  folks,  yet.  They  live  down 
my  way  —  about  fifty  miles  south  of  our  town, 
that  is,  in  Boonville.  By  George,  Jerry,  what 
do  you  think?  that  little  girl  of  mine  is  up 
here  by  herself,  earning  twelve  dollars  a  week 
as  stenographer  in  a  lawyer's  office,  because 
her  father  hasn't  very  much,  and  she  wants  her 
two  brothers  to  go  through  college.  She's 
afraid  of  everything  in  the  world ;  she's  afraid 
to  death  of  this  big  old  town  here,  trampling  all 
around  her;  and  here  she  stays  by  herself, 
so    that    her    father    can    help    her    brothers. 


194  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

Pluck  —  don't  talk  to  me  about  pluck,  Jerry, 
or  I  shall  lose  my  head  and  cry." 

"  Is  she,"  Jerome  asked  slowly,  "  in  that 
same  place  ? " 

"  Not  she,"  replied  Chambers,  briefly.  "  I 
helped  her  move  the  second  time  I  called." 

The  Northrops,  mother  and  daughter,  re- 
turned to  the  city  in  October.  They  had 
been,  as  usual,  making  a  round  of  Eastern 
watering  places,  and  Mrs.  Northrop  professed 
herself  perfectly  exhausted  by  her  summer. 
"  Next  year,"  she  insisted,  "  we  really  must 
stay  at  Lake  Forest,  Elsie ;  the  town  is  grow- 
ing really  delightful  now  that  the  golf-club  has 
been  established  there.  Don't  you  think  so, 
Mr.  Kent?" 

"  I  should  like  Lake  Forest  very  much, 
mamma,"  answered  Elsie,  quietly.  She  had 
heard,  at  the  end  of  every  summer  for  some 
years,  this  threat  of  Lake  Forest  for  the  ensu- 
ing hot  weather.  But  in  the  spring  her 
mother's  fancy  had  always  lightly  turned  again 
to  thoughts  of  the  East.  Jerome  fancied  that 
Elsie  Northrop  had  grown  quieter,  if  possible, 
than  before;  more  staid,  more  marble-like. 
When  he  took  his  leave,  and  she  followed  him 
into  the  hall,  he  was  astonished. 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  I95 

"  Will  you  come  to  see  me  to-morrow  even- 
ing, Mr.  Kent  ?  "  she  asked,  almost  hurriedly. 
"  I  have  a  special  reason.  I  want  to  see  you 
alone." 

"  I  cannot  come  to-morrow,  I  am  afraid," 
he  answered.  "  There  is  a  meeting  of  as- 
semblymen I  must  attend.  The  next  even- 
ing?" 

"  If  you  will,  please,"  she  answered. 

What  special  reason,  he  wondered,  could 
this  still,  calm  young  woman  have  for  seeing 
him?  He  recalled  her  father's  phrase,  on  the 
day  at  Lake  Forest  when  Jerome  had  retaken 
his  vows,  and  so,  unwittingly,  destroyed  his 
own  life.    "  A  special  reason  for  seeing  you." 

He  called  at  nine  o'clock,  and  she  came 
down,  as  he  had  expected,  alone.  When  she 
gave  him  her  hand,  it  was  not  cool  and  firm,  as 
before ;  it  was  cold,  and  shook  a  little.  There 
was  a  spot  of  colour  in  her  face.  Her  voice  was 
as  steady  as  ever,  but  plainly  she  was  under 
the  stress  of  some  emotion. 

"  You  must  not  think  it  strange,  Mr.  Kent, 
that  I  should  ask  you  to  come  to  see  me,"  she 
said,  after  a  minute,  "  nor  that  what  I  am  go- 
ing to  ask  you  is  strange  —  though  it  may 


I96  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

seem  so.  My  father  has  told  me  a  great  deal 
about  you,  Mr.  Kent,  and  about  your  life,  and 
what  you  are  trying  to  do.  I  hope  you  don't 
think  me  impertinent  in  telling  you  this,  or  in 
knowing  more  of  you  than  you  have  told  me?  " 
She  stopped. 

"  No,  no,"  he  answered  quickly.  "  It  is  very 
kind  of  you  to  take  any  interest  at  all." 

She  did  not  seem  to  heed  his  answer.  "  You 
must  know  that  my  father  is  much  interested  in 
you,  and  is  very  fond  of  you?  He  said  once, 
when  you  had  just  come,  that  he  hoped  we 
should  be  like  brother  and  sister.  If  we  have 
not  —  well,  you  know,  Mr.  Kent,  that  you  have 
not  seemed  to  care  for  us  very  much."  She 
phrased  the  fact  calmly,  as  though  there  were 
in  it,  or  in  her  phrasing  of  it,  nothing  surpris- 
ing or  unusual. 

"  If  I  have  seemed,"  he  began.  But  Elsie 
interrupted. 

"  You  have  been  all  that  you  should  be,"  she 
said.  "  Don't  think  that  I  am  trying  to  re- 
proach you.  No;  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a 
very  strange  question,  and  I  wished  that  you 
should  know  just  why  I  asked  it  of  you.  Mr. 
Kent,  what  is  the  matter  with  papa?  " 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 97 

He  stared. 

"Have  you  noticed  nothing?"  she  asked. 
"  You  have  been  here  with  him  constantly,  and 
the  change  had  been  so  gradual,  perhaps  — 
But  when  I  came  back  I  saw  at  once.  He  is 
thinner;  he  is  more  restless;  he  hardly  ever 
talks  to  me  any  more." 

"  He  is  overworking,"  said  Jerome.  "  He 
is  very  busy  with  the  paper,  you  know." 

"  Have  you  noticed  nothing  else  ?  "  she 
asked.  Her  eyes,  clear,  honest,  mournful,  were 
fixed  upon  his.  He  thought  rapidly.  Was  the 
shade  of  wonderment  that  had  crept  over  him, 
now  and  then  —  at  Lake  Forest,  and  in  Nor- 
throp's  private  office,  for  example  —  when  the 
old  man's  voice  rose  and  his  eyes  gleamed,  and 
his  thin  white  fingers  worked  nervously  —  was 
that  worth  speaking  of;  so  worth  that  he 
should  run  the  risk  of  adding  to  this  young 
girl's  anxiety?  He  wondered  what  she  had 
seen.    Her  deep  eyes  still  demanded  honesty. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  slowly.  "  I  have  no- 
ticed something." 

She  drew  a  long  breath  that  was  almost  a 
sob:  as  if  she  had  hoped  against  the  fact. 
"  What?  "  she  asked.    He  told  her,  as  quietly 


I98  THE    SECOND   GENERATION 

as  he  could.  He  made  it  nothing,  nothing  at 
all  —  a  tightening  of  the  lips,  a  restless  move- 
ment of  the  fingers,  an  occasional  quick  look. 

"  Often?" 

"No.  Only,  I  think,  when  — "  He 
paused. 

"  When  he  spoke  —  perhaps  —  of  —  Mr. 
Wheeler?" 

"  Yes,"  Jerome  said  gently,  "  then  I 
think." 

"Oh,"  she  half  whispered,  "it  is  true!" 
She  looked  at  her  ringers  locked  together  in  her 
lap,  for  some  minutes. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  he  urged  finally.  "  I  am 
certain  that  it  is  nothing.  Your  father  is  a 
man  who  has  very  strong  public  spirit,  and  he 
has  been  working  in  the  public  interest  against 
Christopher  Wheeler  for  a  long  time.  Now 
he  sees  an  opportunity  to  accomplish  some- 
thing, and  he  is  working  harder  than  ever; 
that  is  absolutely  all.  I  hope,  for  his  sake,  that 
he  will  accomplish  what  he  wants  and  defeat 
the  gas  bill ;  he  will  be  bitterly  disappointed  if 
he  does  not.  But,  at  any  rate,  when  the  strain 
is  over,  he  will  be  in  that  point  as  he  is  in  all 
his  other  life  now,  willing  to  rest  when  he  has 
worked  too  hard," 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  1 99 

"  You  must  be 'right,"  she  answered.  "  You 
will  understand,  won't  you,  Mr.  Kent,  if  I  tell 
you  that  I  am  very  tired  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  You  said,  a  little  while 
ago,  that  your  father  had  hoped  we  might  be 
like  brother  and  sister.  Will  you  let  me  — 
sometimes  —  help  you,  if  I  can,  in  little  things, 
as  your  brother  might?  You  will  make  me 
very  proud,  if  you  will." 

He  fancied  that  she  swayed  a  little  when  she 
rose  to  take  his  hand.  "  I  shall  be  glad  of  a 
brother.  I  have  always  wanted  one,  you  know. 
You  won't  speak  of  this  to  my  mother,  please  ? 
She  is  not  strong;  she  would  worry,  when  I 
know,  as  you  say,  there  is  nothing  to  worry 
over.  You  will  come  to  see  me?  Good  night 
—  Jerome." 

"  Good  night,  Elsie,"  he  answered. 

He  came  again  a  few  nights  afterward  to 
dinner. 

"  You  must  blame  Elsie,"  Mrs.  Northrop 
told  him,  "  that  you  are  dining  en  famille.  I 
wanted  to  have  some  young  folks  in  —  George 
Hayward,  and  Alice  Montgomery,  and  Ruth 
Adams,  and  people  like  that,  of  your  own  age. 
But  Elsie  insisted  that  you  would  prefer  not. 


200  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

I  told  her  I  was  sure  I  didn't  know  how  she 
could  tell  what  you  preferred,  and  certainly  it 
would  only  be  natural  that  you  should  want 
young  people,  but  I  had  to  give  in,  as  I  always 
do.  Elsie  is  very  strong,  Mr.  Kent,  when  she 
makes  up  her  mind  —  oh,  very  strong.  I  al- 
ways say  that  I  hope  her  husband  will  be  a  de- 
mon, or  she  will  do  as  she  pleases  even  after 
she  is  married." 

"  In  the  fairy  story,"  answered  Jerome, 
"  Beauty  was  too  much  even  for  the  Beast." 

"  Was  she  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Northrop,  politely, 
if  a  little  vaguely. 

Jerome,  watching  Northrop  with  eyes  sharp- 
ened in  anxiety,  was  shocked  at  the  change  in 
him;  shocked  at  himself  for  not  observing  it 
sooner;  shocked  at  his  wife  for  not  seeing 
anything  amiss.  Northrop  ate  little,  and  talked 
even  less.  He  fell  into  fits  of  abstraction,  from 
which  his  wife  would  rouse  him  by  some  ques- 
tion which  the  old  man,  with  a  start  and  a  little 
smile,  would  answer,  when  it  was  repeated. 
The  blue  veins  on  his  eyelids  were  traced  as 
clearly  as  a  map  on  white  paper,  and  his  hands 
were  as  delicate  as  an  invalid's.  Only  his 
clothes  were  as  careful  and  punctilious  as  ever. 


THE   SECOND    GENERATION  201 

Jerome,  too,  wore  evening  dress  to-night.  In 
less  than  half  a  year  the  young  man  from  Scan- 
nell  County,  Indiana,  had  taken  on  the  exter- 
nal appearance  of  the  cosmopolite. 

When  dinner  was  almost  over,  Mrs.  Nor- 
throp suddenly  bethought  herself  of  a  topic  full 
of  interest  to  her,  and  to  them  all. 

"  James,"  she  requested  the  footman,  "  bring 
me  to-night's  Herald,  please.  Elsie,"  she  went 
on,  "  don't  you  remember  that  the  last  time 
Mr.  Kent  was  dining  here,  just  before  we  went 
away,  when  Judge  Hetheridge  and  Margaret 
Walton  were  with  us,  you  spoke  of  Mr.  Wheel- 
er's daughter  —  what  is  her  name?  Ethel  — 
coming  out  this  fall  ?  She  came  out  this  after- 
noon; there  is  a  great  picture  of  her  in  the 
Herald.  It  is  very  pretty.  I  have  never  seen 
her,  but  they  say  she  is  really  quite  wonderful 
looking." 

"  Have  you  ever  come  out,  Mr.  Kent  ?  " 
asked  Elsie,  suddenly.  "  I  don't  see  why  men 
shouldn't  as  well  as  women,  do  you?  " 

But  Jerome  was  too  startled  to  play  up  to 
Elsie's  lead.  She  was  in  the  city,  then!  she 
had  come  out  that  day,  as  she  had  said  she  some 
day  would !  her  picture  was  in  the  Herald! 


202  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

His  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  the  words 
of  his  host.     Elsie  looked  up. 

"  Poor  girl,  poor  girl !  What  has  she  come 
out  to  but  dishonour  and  disgrace  ?  "  Nor- 
throp's  whole  face  was  illuminated  with  sorrow. 
Then  his  eyes  shone  again.  "  But  the  children 
must  suffer  for  the  sins  of  their  fathers !  " 

James  brought  the  paper.  "  There ! " 
pointed  Mrs.  Northrop,  triumphantly,  handing- 
it  to  Jerome.    "  Isn't  she  pretty  ?  " 

It  was  the  same  photograph  that  he  had  at 
home,  but  greatly  enlarged.  The  eyes  were 
happy  in  spite  of  themselves,  the  firm  mouth 
softened  into  curves.  She  justified  the  garish- 
ness  of  print,  redeemed  the  vulgarity  of  this 
public  exhibition.  Were  your  eyes  like  that  as 
you  held  up  your  roses,  Ethel  ?  Did  you  smile 
or  sigh?  Did  any  one  see  the  traces  of  tears 
you  might  have  shed  the  night  before?  As 
you  stood  there  in  your  father's  great  house, 
hearing  the  compliments  they  showered  on  you, 
did  you  ever  think  of  the  days  when  you  had 
wandered  through  the  June?  Jerome  looked 
at  the  picture.  Suddenly  he  heard  a  quick 
breath  taken.  He  glanced  up.  Elsie  Nor- 
throp's  eyes  met  his,  full  of  wonderment.    The 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  203 

red  flush  came  into  his  face,  into  his  forehead 
even,  and  then  slipped  back.  But  he  saw  that 
she  had  seen. 

"  No  picture  of  her  father  ?  "  said  Northrop, 
smoothly.  "  Oh,  well  —  we  shall  give  them 
reason  to  publish  it  one  of  these  days,  per- 
haps.,, 

"  Have  you  seen  nothing  in  all  this  summer, 
new  to  tell  us  about,  Mr.  Kent  ?  "  asked  Elsie, 
determinedly. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  answered.  He  began  to  recite 
the  story  of  a  woman's  club  meeting  he  had 
reported,  where  the  lady  president  resigned  in 
anger,  and  then  when  they  accepted  her  resig- 
nation accused  them  of  being  unparliamentary 
—  "  to  say  nothing  of  impolite,"  she  added. 
And  so  the  dinner  ended.  Afterward,  Elsie 
sang  again,  songs  her  father  preferred  —  bal- 
lads of  Ireland  and  Scotland,  full  of  strange 
minor  chords  that  sobbed  like  children.  Mrs. 
Northrop  played;  the  old  man  sat  with  shut 
eyes,  dreaming;  Jerome,  too,  listened  in  a 
dream ;   she  was  interpreting  his  wonderings. 

When  she  finished,  Northrop  excused  him- 
self and  went  away  to  his  room,  and  soon  af- 
terward Mrs.  Northrop  followed.    She  liked  to 


204  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

talk,  but  not  to  this  young  fellow  with  sombre 
eyes,  who  seemed  hardly  conscious  that  she 
was  talking  at  all. 

"  I  saw  you  looking  at  the  picture,"  Elsie 
said  abruptly  when  they  were  alone. 

"  Yes." 

"  When  did  you  meet  her,  Jerome?  " 

"  In  June,"  he  answered  simply. 

"  Do  you  know  her  well  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  knew  her  well." 

"  I  am  your  sister,"  Elsie  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  I  love  her,  Elsie,"  he  added. 

"  Ah  —  poor,  poor  boy !  " 

He  told  her  the  story,  finding  it  a  great 
relief  to  tell  some  one. 

"  And  you  have  never  seen  her  since?  " 

"  No  —  never  once." 

"  Do  you  think  she  cared  for  you  ?  " 

"  She  told  me  she  did  not.  But  —  almost 
always  I  believe  she  did,  a  little." 

Elsie  wondered  what  Jerome's  plans  were; 
how  he  hoped  to  free  himself  from  the  tangle. 
But  she  only  said  quietly,  — 

"  I  hope  more  than  ever  that  I  can  be  a  good 
sister  to  you,  Jerome." 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  20$ 

"  Thank  you,"  he  replied. 

"  What  did  you  think  —  to-night  —  of 
papa  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  moment. 

"  I  think,  as  before,"  Jerome  said  slowly, 
"  that  he  is  overworked,  that  is  all," 

"  Did  you  see  any  change  in  him  when  my 
mother  mentioned  Miss  Wheeler's  name?" 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted,  hesitating. 

"  I  must  ask  mamma  to  be  careful,"  she 
added  in  an  even  voice.  "  I  should  have  done 
so  before,  but  I  don't  like  to  frighten  her." 

"  It  was  good  of  you,"  said  Jerome,  "  not  to 
let  her  have  people  here  to  meet  me.  I  am  very 
stupid  company  these  days." 

"  Oh,"  she  returned,  "  I  was  thinking  of 
papa,  not  of  you.  I  am  afraid  I  used  you  as  a 
scapegoat." 

Jerome  went  to  another  dinner  early  in  No- 
vember, at  which  there  were  present  only  three 
—  Chambers,  and  the  little  girl  to  whom  he 
was  engaged.  Chambers  took  him  to  call,  first. 
She  was  afraid  of  him,  as  the  young  reporter 
predicted  she  would  be. 

"  Don't  mind  if  her  hand  shakes  when  she 
gives  it  to  you,"  Chambers  counselled. 
"  She'd  be  afraid  of  me  if  I  stopped  talking 


206  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

long  enough  to  give  her  a  chance,  and  the  Lord 
knows  what  she'll  think  about  you,  you  dreary 
old  hippopotamus.  Try  to  cheer  up  a  little; 
don't  look  at  her  as  if  she  was  your  best 
friend's  funeral." 

"  I  shall  laugh  uninterruptedly,"  Jerome 
promised. 

"  Do,"  said  Chambers. 

But  the  two  got  on  as  well  as  even  the  anx- 
ious journalist  desired.  "  I  hope  you  don't 
mind,"  Jerome  told  her,  "  if  I  claim  a  share  in 
Will.    You  see  I  knew  him  first." 

"  He  speaks  of  you  very  often,"  she  an- 
swered timidly. 

"  I  hope  he  speaks  well  of  me,"  Jerome  said ; 
"  for  what  I  am  is  mostly  due  to  him.  I  don't 
believe  that  on  one  day  this  summer  he  has 
failed  to  give  me  some  good  advice." 

"  Piffle,"  cried  the  delighted  reporter.  "  The 
only  advice  I  can  give  you  is  what  Solomon 
gave  to  the  Queen  of  Sheba.  ■  Go  thou  and  do 
likewise! '  " 

"  I  don't  believe,"  Jerome  answered  firmly, 
"  that  it  was  Solomon  who  said  that,  or  that  he 
said  it  to  the  Queen  of  Sheba.  Was  it,  Miss 
Wilcox?" 


THE   SECOND    GENERATION  207 

"  Miss  ?  "  demanded  Chambers. 

"  If  you  say  he  is  right,"  Jerome  insisted, 
"  I  shall  call  you  Miss  Wilcox,  for  then  I  shall 
know  you  are  willing  to  sacrifice  me  and  the 
truth  to  him.  But  if  you  prove  me  correct,  I 
shall  call  you  Mary." 

"  It  was  not  Solomon,"  she  replied,  blush- 
ing. 

"  There,  Will  ! "  he  nodded  soberly. 
"  Thank  you,  Mary."  When  they  went  away 
she  held  him  a  moment  at  the  door.  "  Will, 
go  on  a  minute,  please,"  she  begged.  "  I  want 
to  speak  to  —  Mr.  Jerome  —  just  a  minute." 

"  Ah,  would  you  ?  "  answered  Chambers. 
"  The  first  night  I  bring  him  over  —  and  to  do 
it  so  openly,  too !  "  He  kissed  her  and  stepped 
into  the  hall. 

"  That  night,  Mr.  Jerome,"  she  went  on  hur- 
riedly, when  they  were  alone,  "  when  I  saw 
Will  —  and  you.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  —  if 
you  were  afraid  for  Will  —  that  she  and  I  — 
were  not  very  good  friends.  We  were  room- 
ing next  each  other,  and  I  knew  her  before  — 
And  then,  afterward  —  when  she  told  me  — 
I  could  hardly  have  gone  away  —  and  left  her 
alone  —  could  I  ? "    Her  voice  shook. 


208  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

u  Being  you,"  he  returned,  in  a  low  voice, 
u  I  suppose  you  couldn't." 

"  Well,"  she  trembled  on,  "  I  wanted  you  to 
know  —  because  you  were  there  —  in  case  you 
were  afraid  for  Will." 

He  looked  at  her  small  shrinking  figure,  and 
the  blue  eyes  that  looked  straight  into  his  while 
the  voice  wavered. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  no,  Mary,  I  am  not  afraid 
for  Will.  I  think  that  if  you  stay  by  him  no- 
body need  to  be  afraid  for  him." 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  asked  Chambers,  curiously, 
when  they  were  in  the  street. 

"  She  was  trying  to  make  me  fall  in  love  with 
her,"  answered  Jerome,  calmly.  "  And,  Will, 
she  nearly  did." 

"  Piffle !  "  returned  the  delighted  Chambers 
once  more. 


CHAPTER  X 

Northrop  was  hard  to  hold  as  time  went  on. 
The  facsimiles  on  which  he  based  so  much  ex- 
pectation were  ready  to  be  struck  off  at  any 
time,  and  Hanlon  found  need  for  all  his  tact  to 
keep  the  old  man  from  putting  them  out  pre- 
maturely. Northrop  had  almost  succeeded  in 
convincing  himself  that,  once  published,  this 
list  would  do  all  the  work  he  had  been  planning 
so  long  —  defeat  the  gas  bill,  indict  Wheeler, 
cleanse  the  whole  political  atmosphere  of  the 
state;  and  he  grew  more  and  more  anxious  to 
bring  off  the  coup  at  once. 

But  Hanlon  held  him  in  check,  with  the 
assistance  of  Jerome's  influence. 

The  legislature  convened  on  the  8th  of  De- 
cember, but  Hanlon  and  Kent  arrived  in  Spring- 
field  on  the  6th.  On  the  way  down,  Hanlon 
explained  the  situation  as  he  understood  it. 

"  You  know,  Kent,  I'm  here  to  get  the  news. 
Personally  I  am  opposed  to  this  bill  of  Wheel- 
er's, but  I  didn't  come  down  to  fight  that  or 
p  209 


2IO  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

any  other  bill,  I  came  to  find  out  what  is  going 
on.  You,  I  take  it,  are  here,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
to  lobby  against  Union  Gas.  Well,  the  first 
thing,  you  need  to  be  acquainted  with  the 
country  members;  know  all  you  can."  He 
drew  from  his  pocket  a  list  of  the  membership 
of  the  legislature.  "  Here  I  have  marked  all  the 
names  as  Wheeler  had  them  marked  on  the  list 
you  got.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  know  exactly 
your  enemy's  strength  and  calculations.  Look- 
ing at  this,  you  see,  we  can  tell  exactly  what  his 
plans  are;  he  is  all  in  the  dark  about  ours. 
Well,  here  I  find,  in  the  lower  House,  125  names 
marked  O.  K.  and  112  marked  N.  G.  That 
leaves  33  out  of  270  who  have  figures  attached. 
That  means  125  men  will  vote  for  Wheeler, 
and  112  are  no  good  to  him. 

"  Of  course,  you  needn't  trouble  yourself 
over  those  marked  N.  G.  If  Wheeler  had  come 
and  told  you  he  had  given  up  trying  to  in- 
duce those  men  to  vote  for  his  bill,  or  if  he 
had  allowed  you  to  find  out  that  he  had  stopped 
working  on  them,  that  would  be  different; 
then  you'd  want  to  look  after  those  fellows 
night  and  day.  But  this  piece  of  evidence  you 
got  is  absolutely  straight,  you  gee  ;  he  doesn't 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  211 

know  you've  got  it  —  does  he  ?  "  he  asked  ab- 
ruptly. Jerome  shook  his  head.  No  inquiries, 
so  far  as  he  knew,  had  ever  been  made  for  the 
red-leather  pocket-book. 

"  That,  then,  is  all  right.  Now  about  these 
men  marked  O.  K. ;  you  can't  do  much  there, 
either,  perhaps ;  still,  when  you  have  a  chance 
with  one,  find  out  all  you  can.  Something  may 
have  come  up,  you  never  can  tell ;  the  remun- 
eration may  have  all  gone,  by  now,  or  if  he's 
honest,  he  may  even  have  changed  his  views. 
But  the  real  set  you  want  to  get  after  is  the  lot 
with  figures  behind  their  names  —  the  thirty- 
three. 

"  There  are  two  or  three  things  to  consider. 
First,  some  of  those  thirty-three  may  be  what 
Union  Gas  would  call  O.  K.  by  now.  In  other 
words,  they  may  have  been  seen  already.  On 
the  other  hand,  mighty  few  of  them  would  be 
put  down,  even  now,  as  N.  G.  on  the  old  man's 
list.  The  agitation  hasn't  been  quite  hot 
enough  yet  for  the  honest  ones,  and  the  others 
are  simply  hungry,  and  will  bite  at  the  biggest 
bone,  no  matter  who  throws  it  out.  In  the  next 
place,  you've  been  on  this  work  long  enough 
to  know  that  these  figures  don't  mean  money, 


212  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

If  all  one  had  to  do  in  putting  through  any- 
thing crooked,  was  to  go  to  a  man  with  a  thou- 
sand-dollar bill  and  say,  '  Here's  for  your  vote, 
take  it  or  leave  it,'  as  if  it  was  a  fifty-cent  piece 
and  a  tramp  outside  a  polling  place  —  if  brib- 
ery and  corruption,  as  they  say,  was  that  easy, 
the  big  corporations  would  own  the  country  in 
two  weeks,  from  the  President  down.  But  it 
can't  be  worked  in  just  that  way.  Now  and 
then  money  passes,  real  coin,  but  not  often. 

"  Suppose  your  name  was  Jenkins,  we'll  say, 
and  you'd  been  elected  to  the  legislature  from 
down  in  Pohasset  County,  fifty  miles  from  a 
town  over  ten  thousand.  You're  a  lawyer  with 
a  good  growing  family,  and  mighty  little  to 
put  into  their  mouths ;  you've  done  well  by  the 
party,  made  some  speeches  about  the  eagle  and 
the  flag,  and  you're  not  strong  enough  to  be 
dangerous ;  you  can  be  trusted  to  vote  for  the 
party  men  every  time.  So  they  elect  you  to  the 
legislature.  Well,  you  are  glad,  of  course  ; 
you  come  up  to  Springfield,  take  a  room  on  a 
back  street  and  eat  at  a  hash  house,  draw  your 
five  per  diem  and  send  four  and  a  half  home  to 
the  wife.  Meanwhile,  you  wander  round  with 
your  toothpick  in  your  mouth,  and  you  see 


THE   SECOND    GENERATION  213 

other  fellows,  whose  vote  counts  one,  just  as 
yours  does,  opening  champagne  in  the  Fountain 
House.  Do  you  ever  get  a  little  discontented, 
Jenkins,  and  write  home  to  the  family,  maybe, 
that  things  don't  seem  equally  divided  in  this 
democratic  country  ?    Yes,  I  think  you  do. 

"  By  and  by  comes  a  measure  that  isn't  by 
any  means  a  party  affair.  The  corporations 
want  something,  and  that  is  always  the  signal 
for  a  scramble  of  patriots  on  both  sides.  They 
find  out  —  probably  they've  known  it  all 
along  —  that  Jenkins  of  Pohasset  County  is  in 
the  legislature  with  a  vote  counting  one.  They 
look  up  Jenkins  of  Pohasset  County  —  coun- 
try lawyer,  large  family,  excellent  character, 
member  of  the  church,  never  gets  drunk  — 
man  of  unblemished  reputation.  Then  they 
send  a  man  around  to  you." 

"  And  he  fixes  you,"  finished  Jerome. 

"  And  he  does  nothing  of  the  sort.  He's  a 
fellow  legislator;  it's  his  business  to  find  out 
whether  you  have  the  proper  idea  of  the  legis- 
lature, which  is,  that  it's  a  close  corporation, 
like  the  Masons,  where,  if  one  brother  is  found 
doing  something  a  little  off  colour,  the  others 
go  round  the  corner  for  a  few  minutes;   not 


214  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

like  a  church,  for  instance,  where  you  are 
pledged  to  bawl  and  yell  the  second  you  see 
anybody  stepping  to  one  side.  In  other  words, 
it's  bad  form  to  split  on  a  member  of  the  fra- 
ternity. This  legislator  comes  around,  then, 
and  puts  you  right  on  that  point,  if  you  aren't 
right  already.  If  Wheeler  is  part  of  the  cor- 
poration maybe  Arkell  comes,  maybe  Laramie, 
maybe  Benson;   maybe  somebody  else. 

"  Then  they  get  at  you.  You're  to  be  con- 
vinced of  the  worth  of  the  bill  first,  if  possible. 
But  sometimes  it's  a  lovely  bare-faced  steal,  so 
that  plan  can't  be  tried.  However,  take  this 
gas  bill,  for  instance.  You,  Jenkins,  come  as  I 
said  from  a  town  of  five  thousand ;  what  do 
your  constituents  care  for  a  bill  which  affects 
only  Chicago  ?  So  long  as  it's  not  a  party 
measure,  they  won't  call  you  down;  they'll 
give  you  a  free  hand,  and  if  later  you  have  your 
house  painted  and  send  the  younger  boys  away 
to  school  for  a  year,  they  won't  mind;  the 
drinks  are  on  Chicago,  anyway.  You  know 
they  won't  mind ;  you  are  one  of  them. 

"  Now  a  man  comes  to  see  you  who  knows 
you,  who  has  made  it  his  business  to  know  you. 
You  get  to  talking  over  things,  and  he  asks  you 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  21 5 

how  the  law  business  is  in  Pohasset  County. 
You  tell  him  it's  pretty  poor  scratching.  '  Get 
a  good  many  railroad  cases  though,  I  suppose/ 
he  says.  No,  you  tell  him,  most  of  those  go  to 
Robinson,  further  up  the  line.  '  Well/  he 
says, '  that's  too  bad.  I  know  Mr.  Blenkinsopp, 
who's  a  director;  know  him  well.  If  you 
won't  consider  it  intruding  in  your  affairs,  I'll 
just  speak  to  Blenkinsopp  about  you.'  You 
don't  consider  it  any  intrusion ;  you  know  who 
Blenkinsopp  is,  and  you  know  too,  that  if  this 
man  speaks  to  him  it  means  a  nice  little  five 
hundred  a  year,  perhaps,  on  your  income. 

"  *  Oh,  by  the  way,'  he  says  later,  *  have  you 
made  up  your  mind  about  the  gas  bill  ?  That's 
a  good  bill,  I  believe ;  it  has  its  faults,  so  they 
all  have,  but  I  shall  vote  for  it,  and  I  hope  you 
can  see  your  way  clear  to  voting  for  it  also.' 
Only  he  doesn't  call  it  the  gas  bill ;  he  calls  it 
House  Bill  No.  7742. 

"  Well,  what  happens  ?  either  you  are  a  fool 
and  don't  understand  the  influence,  but  simply 
give  him  your  vote  out  of  gratitude,  when  the 
time  comes,  for  his  help  with  Blenkinsopp ;  or 
you  aren't  a  fool,  do  understand,  and  have 
to  make  up  your  mind.    You  don't  care  a  rip 


2l6  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

about  Chicago,  you  know;  the  newspapers  of 
Chicago  abuse  the  bill,  but  what  of  it?  they 
are  always  howling  about  something.  Here's 
five  hundred  a  year  coming  your  way.  What 
do  you  do,  Mr.  Jenkins  of  Pohasset  County?  " 

"  I  see,"  replied  Jerome. 

"  Well,  then,  it's  for  you  now, —  not  as 
Jenkins,  but  as  yourself  —  to  get  to  know  Jen- 
kins, and  all  the  rest  of  them.  Most  of  them 
are  honest  enough;  and  when  their  principles 
are  aroused,  they'll  do  what  is  right.  You've 
got  to  educate  them.  The  Eagle  and  the  other 
papers  will  do  the  foundation-work  of  point- 
ing out  the  demerits  of  the  bill,  and  letting  no- 
body rest  in  ignorance  that  influence  is  being 
used.  You  will  have  to  do  the  rest.  When  we 
get  to  Springfield,  you'll  find  many  of  the 
country  members  already  there,  looking  about. 
You  must  get  acquainted  at  once ;  get  them  all 
to  like  you.  You  can't  fight  money  with  any 
weapon  but  friendship." 

"  It's  a  big  contract,"  suggested  Kent. 

"  Fighting  money  always  is,"  sententiously 
replied  the  political  editor  of  the  Eagle. 

The  weather  was  bleak  and  drizzling. 
Springfield  was  in  the  midst  of  the  untidiness 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  21 7 

that  always  precedes  a  holiday.  Two  days 
later,  when  the  legislature  convened,  the 
wreaths  would  be  up  and  the  floors  swept ;  now 
everything  was  a  litter  of  preparation.  As 
they  rode  up  to  the  Fountain  House,  the  water 
on  the  car-rails  splashed  into  muddy  streets. 
The  lobby  entrance  of  the  hotel  was  paved  with 
sloppy  oil-cloth. 

"  It  won't  do  you  much  good  to  look  at  the 
register,"  explained  Hanlon.  "  The  men  you 
want  don't  room  here;  they  live  back  on  the 
side  streets.  This  is  the  O.  K.  house.  But  ten 
to  one  some  of  your  meat  will  be  lounging 
around  here.  We'll  go  out  and  have  a  look." 
It  was  as  he  said ;  in  five  minutes  Jerome  had 
been  introduced  to  three  —  Hartley,  Meek,  and 
Wilcox  —  all  marked,  as  he  remembered,  500 
or  1000  in  Wheeler's  estimate. 

"  Mr.  Kent  a  journalist,  like  yourself,  Mr. 
Hanlon?  "  asked  Hartley,  a  pompous  old  man 
with  a  gray  beard. 

"  Yes,  he's  a  newspaper  man,"  answered 
Hanlon,  "  on  the  Eagle/' 

"  Excuse  me,"  diffidently  remarked  Wilcox, 
"  but  are  you  Mr.  Jerome  Kent  ?  Do  you  know 
anybody  by  the  name  of  Chambers  ?  " 


2l8  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Jerome,  heartily.     • 

"  He  is  —  the  fact  is  —  well,  I  guess  my  eld- 
est girl's  going  to  marry  him,"  went  on  Wil- 
cox. He  was  a  small  man,  of  hesitant  address, 
like  his  daughter.  A  sandy  beard  covered  the 
weakness  of  his  chin.  His  eyes  were  china- 
blue  —  in  a  woman  they  would  have  been  called 
appealing.  He  was  of  that  type  of  men  who 
seem  to  deprecate  their  own  existence,  and 
whose  coat  of  arms  should  bear  a  homeless  dog, 
couchant. 

"  Let  me  shake  hands  again,"  said  Jerome. 
"  I  haven't  known  your  daughter  long,  Mr. 
Wilcox,  but  I  respect  her  more  than  I  do  most 
people ;  and  Will  Chambers  is  one  of  my  best 
friends." 

"  So  Mary  wrote,"  the  legislator  answered, 
rubbing  his  hands  together  nervously.  "  I 
guess  —  I  guess  -  he's  a  very  good  fellow. 
Hey?" 

"  Suppose  we  celebrate  this  meeting  of  ac- 
quaintances," Hanlon  suggested.  He  had 
largely  laid  aside  the  dry,  cynical  air  that 
characterized  him  in  Chicago,  and  adapted  a 
pleasant  species  of  bonhomie. 

"  Mr.  Hartley,  what's  yours  ?  Mr.  Meek  ? 
Mr.  Wilcox?" 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  2IO, 

"I  —  I  will  take  a  —  a  lemonade  if  you 
please,"  replied  Wilcox. 

"  Br'r,"  shivered  Hanlon.  "  You'll  have  to 
sit  on  a  radiator  to  drink  it,  Mr.  Wilcox. 
What  do  you  say  to  a  hot  milk  shake  —  if  you 
don't  like  stick?" 

"  Thank  you,  I  should  prefer  that," answered 
Wilcox. 

"  I  should  like  to  call,  if  you  don't  mind, 
Mr.  Wilcox,"  said  Jerome,  in  a  low  voice  as 
they  stood  at  the  bar.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  had 
found  a  friend  down  here  already,  since  we 
both  have  such  an  interest  in  Will  —  and  your 
daughter.  You  are  not  stopping  at  the  Foun- 
tain House?  " 

"  No,  oh,  no,"  answered  Wilcox,  "  I  am  not 
—  not  stopping  at  any  hotel  at  present.  I  am 
at  a  private  boarding-house  on  Fourth  Street, 
122.  I  should  take  it  very  kind  of  you  to  call, 
very  kind." 

"  I  shall  do  so  to-morrow,"  Jerome  returned. 
"  Shall  we  drink  to  —  them  ?  " 

"  It  is  —  it  is  a  pleasure,  Mr.  Kent,  to  do 
so." 

Jerome  made  the  acquaintance,  as  Hanlon 
advised,  of  many  a  legislator  in  the  next  few 


±20  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

days,  before  the  legislature  convened,  and  af- 
terward. Generally,  they  fell  into  types,  with 
slight  personal  differences — the  pompous  type, 
represented  by  Hartley,  formal  of  speech,  care- 
ful to  preserve  a  congressional  dignity,  but 
commonly  ready  to  take  a  drink  when  asked; 
the  genial,  hail-fellow-well-met  men,  who  spoke 
in  loud,  cheerfuj  voices,  called  every  new  ac- 
quaintance by  his  name,  without  prefix,  and 
saluted  him  with  a  slap  on  the  shoulder;  the 
men  from  the  inland  cities,  Peoria  and  Rock 
Island  and  Quincy,  less  devoted  to  the  frock- 
coat,  some  of  them  smart  young  fellows  in  the 
early  thirties,  who  showed  a  distinct  crease 
down  the  front  of  the  trouser-leg,  and  turned 
up  those  garments  at  the  bottom  even  on  dry 
days;  many  other  types,  of  course,  but  these 
the  most  prominent.  And  he  met  men  of  the 
craftier  sort,  two  or  three,  men  like  villains  on 
the  19th  Street  stage,  men  who  were  known 
openly  as  "  out  for  the  stuff."  They,  too,  if 
they  were  not  marked  "  O.  K."  on  Wheeler's 
list,  were  put  far  down  on  the  scale  as  easy 
prey  when  the  time  came.  The  genial  men, 
who  talked  freely,  as  birds  sing,  never  reveal- 
ing a  secret  in  all  the  long  day ;  and  the  quiet 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  221 

men  who  scarcely  talked  at  all,  great  men  for 
committees  :  these  were  the  sort  he  valued 
highly,  whose  vote  was  estimated  in  the  thou- 
sands. 

He  met  Arkell  and  Laramie  again  —  old  ac- 
quaintances in  Chicago  —  who  asked  him  hu- 
morously if  the  Eagle  were  still  screaming,  and 
whether  he  knew  that,  after  all,  House  Bill  7742 
would  not  come  up  this  session.  House  Bill 
7742  was  Wheeler's  bill.  No,  Jerome  said,  he 
didn't  know  that;  he  must  wire  the  Eagle  at 
once,  as  he  believed  the  news  was  a  scoop. 
"  And  certainly  it's  very  good  of  you,  Mr.  Ar- 
kell, to  put  us  on  —  under  the  circumstances." 
Arkell's  fat  sides  shook  with  laughter.  "  I  see 
you  wag  your  tail  too  fast  to  let  an  old  man 
like  me  drop  salt  on  it,"  he  said  admiringly. 

"What  the  h 1  is  young  Kent  at?"  he 

queried  of  his  colleague  a  few  minutes  later. 
"  The  Eagle  never  sent  two  men  down  here  be- 
fore. This  young  fellow  knows  half  the  coun- 
try members  already ;  I  never  see  him  without 
somebody  we  need  in  tow.    Is  he  lobbying?  " 

"  Probably,"  consented  Laramie. 

"  They  say  old  Northrop's  going  cracked," 
added  Arkell,  contemptuously.     "  I  didn't  be- 


222  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

lieve  it  before,  but  I  do  now.    Why  don't  he 
send  a  baby  down  here  ?  " 

The  work  was  not  so  unpleasant  as  Jerome 
had  feared.  He  gave  up  all  idea  of  trying  to 
trace  any  ill-doing  back  to  Wheeler,  and  con- 
tented himself  with  forming  acquaintances  that 
might  be  useful  in  the  future.  It  was  true,  as 
Arkell  said,  that  in  two  weeks  he  knew  half  the 
country  members.  They  interested  him ;  from 
the  country  himself,  he  understood  their  ways 
of  looking  at  the  world,  could  appreciate  with 
exactitude  the  stretch  of  their  horizons.  And 
he  was  learning  much  from  the  unconscious 
Wilcox,  who  after  a  few  days  accepted  him  on 
trust  and  told  him  many  things.  Wilcox's  case 
was  the  embodiment  of  that  which  Hanlon 
had  sketched  in  the  train.  Wilcox  might  have 
sat  for  the  portrait  of  the  supposititious  Jen- 
kins. His  views  on  the  gas  bill  were  vague, 
indefinite.  It  would  be  a  good  thing,  he  sup- 
posed, to  have  the  matter  settled  definitely; 
would  keep  business  from  unsteadiness.  But 
he  really  hadn't  looked  into  the  matter  much. 
He  told  Jerome  about  his  family.  He  was  evi- 
dently fondest  of  Mary,  but  proud  of  his  two 
sons,  who  were  in  college  at  Jacksonville. 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  227, 

"  One  of  them  a  senior  and  one  a  soph-o- 
more,"  their  father  said  with  pride.  "  You  are 
a  college  student,  of  course  ?  "  No,  Jerome 
was  not. 

"  Neither  am  I,"  sighed  Wilcox,  with  evi- 
dent relief.  "  Not  so  many  colleges  in  my 
day,"  he  added.  Then  there  were  the  three 
younger  children,  left  at  home  with  his  wife  — 
two  more  boys  and  a  little  girl  —  "a  girl  at 
each  end,"  as  he  said. 

So  the  session  went  on  for  a  few  weeks,  and 
Jerome  was  working  almost  hard  enough  to 
forget  all  he  wished  to  forget  —  almost,  but 
not  quite.  Still,  in  the  night  before  he  went  to 
sleep,  he  could  not  help  fancying  a  face  he 
knew,  with  clear,  shining  eyes  and  a  firm 
mouth,  looking  at  him  from  the  darkness.  He 
had  left  the  little  photograph  at  home.  He  had 
not  the  heart  to  bring  it  while  he  was  fighting 
with  all  his  power  against  her  father.  Mean- 
while the  gas  bill,  in  spite  of  Arkell's  humor- 
ous remarks,  had  been  promptly  introduced 
and  had  gone  to  a  second  reading.  When  at 
the  Christmas  recess  Hanlon  and  Jerome  rode 
home  together,  the  political  editor  confided  to 
his  assistant  that  the  time  seemed  to  him  ripe 
for  publication  of  the  facsimile. 


224  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"  It's  bound  to  be  soon,"  he  added;  "  the  old 
man  is  getting  away  from  me ;  it's  a  hard  mat- 
ter to  be  telling  your  employer  every  day  what 
he's  to  do.  Anyway,  it's  up  to  us,  I  think. 
The  campaign  here  in  Chicago,  between  the 
Eagle  and  the  Eye,  has  been  pushed  along 
pretty  lively.  The  public  is  excited  now;  ev- 
erybody's watching  the  bill  and  wondering 
how  it  will  come  out.  I  think  I  shall  tell  the 
old  man  to  let  the  rocket  go  on  the  4th  of  Jan- 
uary, the  day  before  the  legislature  reconvenes. 
The  4th  is  on  Sunday,  and  we  have  a  big 
Sunday  circulation  in  the  country  districts. 
Jove,  Kent,  do  you  know,  I  actually  begin  to 
get  a  little  excited  over  this  thing.  It'll  be  the 
biggest  piece  of  Chicago  journalism  in  years; 
the  old  man  will  have  to  have  a  special  clerk  to 
file  away  the  libel  suits.  I  believe,  if  I  were  in 
his  place,  I'd  give  it  up  even  now;  it's  too 
risky;  I'd  lose  my  nerve."  He  yawned,  look- 
ing out  at  the  backward-flying  banks  of  snow 
on  either  side  of  the  track.  "  But  there's  no 
giving  up  in  Henry  Northrop.  Kent,  I'd  like 
to  ask  you  a  question,  if  you  don't  mind.  I 
don't  need  to  tell  you  I'll  keep  it  quiet;  you 
know  me.  But  how  did  you  get  hold  of  that 
list?" 


THE    SECOND    GENERATION  225 

Jerome  glanced  up.  "  I  thought  Northrop 
told  you,"  he  replied. 

"That  day  in  the  office?" 

"  Yes." 

"  So  he  did,"  confessed  Hanlon.  "  This 
lad's  no  fool,"  he  thought,  "  and  he's  quite 
right ;  the  fewer  in  the  know,  the  better.  But 
I'd  like  to  know  just  how  he  managed  it. 
Good  God,  what  a  newspaperman  he'll  make 
when  he  knows  the  ropes !  " 

Northrop,  when  Hanlon  rendered  his  decis- 
ion, was  overjoyed.  "  You  think  the  4th  of 
January  is  best?"  he  asked.  "I  should  like 
to  make  it  a  Christmas  gift  to  the  city  —  the 
downfall  of  Christopher  Wheeler.  But  I 
agree."  Even  in  the  three  weeks  since  he  had 
left  Northrop,  the  old  man  had  changed  for 
the  worse,  Jerome  could  see.  The  suppressed 
excitement  about  the  facsimile  was  wearing 
him  out  rapidly.  Jerome  was  glad  that  it 
would  be  over  soon.  His  own  work  was  not 
done  until  Wheeler's  measure  was  defeated; 
was  not  clone  even  then,  perhaps,  if  Northrop 
held  him  to  his  promise.  For  Jerome's  mind, 
as  any  one  can  have  guessed  by  now,  was  made 
up  on  one  point.  He  would  stick  to  his  prom- 
ts 


226  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

ise  to  his  father.  He  had  been  wavering  in  the 
balance;  he  had  decided  to  do  what  he  con- 
ceived to  be  his  duty,  and  immediately  he  was 
made  to  suffer  in  a  way  of  which  he  had  never 
dreamed.  Then  he  had  set  his  teeth  like  a 
bull-dog.  His  pride  would  pull  him  through 
now.  When  he  could  look  at  his  dead  father's 
handwriting,  and  say,  "  Father,  I  have  kept 
my  word !  "  then  —  well,  what  then  ?  Jerome 
did  not  know.  Perhaps  life  would  be  over; 
perhaps  he  could  make  life  begin  again. 

He  saw  Elsie  and  had  a  long  talk.  She 
mentioned  with  some  shyness  that  she  had  met 
Ethel  Wheeler.  "  Of  course,  father  does  not 
know.  We  spoke  only  a  word  or  two.  She  is 
very  pretty,  Jerome.  But  she  looked  very 
tired.  She  isn't  popular,  in  spite  of  her  beauty, 
they  say;  she  hurts  people's  feelings  too 
much." 

Elsie  did  not  say  much  about  her  father. 
"  I  think  he  is  about  the  same,"  she  admitted, 
"  only  tired.  I  spoke  to  mamma  about  his 
needing  rest,  and  she  was  very  good ;  we  have 
few  people  in,  now,  and  I  am  sure  it  is  better 
for  him.  I  sing  to  him  every  evening,  and  he 
goes  to  sleep." 


THE   SECOND    GENERATION  227 

Chambers  and  his  fiancee  were  not  in  the 
city;  they  had  gone  down  to  Boonville  to 
spend  the  holiday.  "  My,  but  you  made  a 
hit  with  papa-in-la w- to-be/ '  wrote  Chambers. 
"  It's  Mr.  Kent,  "Mr.  Kent,  till  I  grow  jealous. 
1  told  Mary  I  intended  to  have  the  wedding  be- 
fore she  saw  you  again,  so  as  to  avoid  any  pos- 
sible hitch  in  the  proceedings.', 

Jerome  was  invited  to  spend  Christmas  Eve 
with  the  Northrops.  On  the  afternoon  of  the 
24th  he  wandered  down  to  the  office  at  his  old 
accustomed  hour.  He  wanted  something  to 
do.  McKinney  easily  supplied  the  want.  "  I 
won't  give  you  a  school  entertainment  to-day," 
he  grinned  amiably.  "  How  should  you  like  to 
beard  a  lion  in  his  den,  a  Douglas  in  his  hall  ? 
See  here;  here's  a  note  from  Chris  Wheeler, 
saying  the  Eagle  misquoted  him  yesterday,  as 
usual,  and  wanting  us  to  send  up  a  man  to  rec- 
tify it.     Will  you  go?" 

The  plan  caught  Jerome's  attention.  "  Yes," 
he  said  after  a  moment.  He  repented  his 
words  as  soon  as  he  was  out  of  the  office.  Sup- 
pose he  should  meet  Her !  But  it  was  too  late 
to  turn  back. 

Wheeler  received  him  after  a  long  wait,  in 


228  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

his  private  room.  The  great  man  sat  at  his 
desk,  dwarfing  it.  His  huge  red  head,  only 
slightly  tinged  with  gray,  still  flared  like  a 
torch  above  shoulders  little  less  massive  than 
the  deformities  of  the  Farnese  Hercules.  His 
big  hands  against  his  immaculate  cuffs  were 
stubby,  coarse,  and  powerful  as  hammers.  His 
clothes  were  expensive  and  showy;  his  eyes, 
deep-set,  wore  red  rims ;  his  nose  was  bulbous 
and  more  veined  than  of  old.  Otherwise,  as 
he  had  faced  the  father  years  before,  the  son 
saw  him  now. 

"  Young  man  from  the  Eagle?  "  he  growled. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  D d  scandalous  sheet !  "  exploded  the 

old  man.  "  I  don't  care  what  it  says  about 
me,  but  when  it  takes  to  quoting  my  words,  I 
want  'em  right  —  right,  do  you  hear  ?  Tell 
your  boss  he'll  have  a  suit  for  libel  on  his 
hands  when  I  get  around  to  it.  Meanwhile, — 
take  out  your  pencil.  Now  write  this  down  as 
I  say  it,  word  for  word."  He  dictated. 
"  There!  "  he  said.  "  Now  get  along  and  see 
how  much  you'll  twist  that,  going  from  here 
down  town." 

On  the  side  of  his  head,  running  up  into  his 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  229 

hair,  showed  a  freshly  healed  broad  scar. 
Jerome  stared  at  it  curiously,  while  Wheeler 
bent  over  his  desk.  The  old  man  looked  up  and 
caught  his  eye. 

"  Well,  what  now  ?  "  He  put  up  his  hand. 
"  Wonder  what  made  that,  hey  ?  "  There  was 
no  indication  in  Wheeler's  tone  that  he  had 
taken  offence.  "  That  was  where  they  tried  to 
hold  me  up,  awhile  ago.  That  would  have  fin- 
ished most  men,  eh?  I'm  tough,  young  man; 
I'm  tough.  You  tell  your  boss  I'm  tough,  will 
you?  Tell  him  he  can't  get  at  me  till  he  can 
hit  harder  than  most  of  'em.  I  don't  mind  his 
lies.     Take  a  drink,  young  man;   I've  nothing 

against  you ;  only  you're  working  for  a  d d 

poor  stick,  that  Northrop.  Why  don't  you  get 
a  man  for  boss  —  eh  ?  " 

"  The  man  who  gave  you  that  scar  hit 
pretty  hard,  Mr.  Wheeler,"  said  Jerome.  "  I 
fancy  he  hit  harder  than  most  men." 

"  Nearly  laid  me  out,  not  quite." 

"  Pretty  nearly,"  acquiesced  Jerome,  incau- 
tiously. He  was  thinking  of  the  old  man's  ap- 
pearance that  night,  and  his  cry  —  "  Blood  all 
over  me!" 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it  ?  " 


23O  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

"It  looks  like  a  nasty  blow  —  that's  all." 

Wheeler  reflected. 

"  How  came  it  that  the  Eagle  knew  about 
the  hold-up,  and  nobody  else?"  he  demanded 
suddenly. 

"It's  an  enterprising  paper,"  answered  Je- 
rome, lightly. 

"  D d    enterprising,"    growled    the   old 

man.  "  What's  your  name,  young  man?  "  he 
asked  suddenly. 

"  You  can  call  me  Smith."  Jerome  had 
no  intention  of  arousing  old  memories  in 
Wheeler.  In  a  way  he  was  wise.  The  thought 
of  John  Kent  was  the  sorest  spot  —  one  may 
say  the  only  sore  spot  —  in  Wheeler's  mind. 
For  nothing  else  in  his  long  career  was  he 
ashamed ;  he  rather  took  credit  for  his  astute- 
ness, for  the  unsportsmanlike  abuse  he  had  got 
from  the  men  he  had  beaten.  But  this  man, 
Kent,  smaller  than  himself,  who  assaulted  him 
only  with  his  tongue,  Wheeler  had  struck ;  and 
Kent  had  died.  He  did  not  feel  guilty,  but  he 
felt  that  he  had  lowered  his  own  ideals  to  strike 
a  smaller  man.  To  bear  abuse  patiently,  to  win 
to  his  own  ends,  and  then  to  take  revenge,  — 
that  was  Wheeler's  code.     Not  all  of  us  live 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  23 1 

up  to  ours  as  sincerely ;  not  all  of  us  when  ours 
is  broken  feel  such  remorse  as  he.  No,  the 
name  of  Kent  would  have  called  back  to 
Wheeler  the  face  of  a  dead  man.  But  the  sub- 
terfuge woke  other  memories. 

"  By  G d !  "  he  cried,  "  I  believe  you're 

the  man  that  I've  been  looking  for !  " 

Too  late  Jerome  realized  his  mistake.  This 
might  jeopardize  the  publication  of  the  fac- 
simile!    He  gathered  up  his  papers  and  rose. 

"  Good  day,  Mr.  Wheeler." 

"  No !  "  thundered  Wheeler.  "  We'll  have 
a  few  more  words  first,  before  you  go.  What's 
come  of  my  pocket-book,  young  man?"  His 
deep-set  eyes  glowed,  and  his  whole  big  body 
swelled  with  the  demand.  "  You  know  the  man 
who  made  that  hit  harder  than  most  of  'em, 
don't  you?  A  little  more  and  you'd  have  done 
for  me,  eh?  but  you  just  missed.  Now,  I'll 
try  what  I  can  do  with  you !  "  He  whirled  up 
the  big  office  chair  on  which  he  had  been  sit- 
ting, as  if  it  were  a  feather.  Murder  was  in 
his  eyes  as  plain  as  print.  With  one  motion 
Jerome  jerked  open  the  office  door,  with  an- 
other pulled  it  to  behind  him.  There  was  a 
crash ;   the  broken  chair  smashed  through  the 


232  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

panels.  There  was  the  sound  of  a  fall,  and 
then  —  silence ;  no  pursuit.  Jerome  stood 
panting  in  the  corridor  a  moment,  then  went 
hurriedly  down  the  broad  stairs.  At  the  foot, 
in  the  gloom  of  the  great  hall,  he  met  Ethel 
coming  up.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  seen 
her  since  the  day  by  the  lake. 

"  Is  there  anything ?  "  she  said  quickly. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  a  noise."  Then  she  saw 
him  plainly.  "  Oh !  "  she  cried,  and  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  There  is  an  accident  —  or  —  something  — 
I  think,"  he  answered  briefly.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  he  was  in  a  dream.  "  I  should  send 
up  a  servant,  if  I  were  you." 

"  Papa?  "  she  cried  again.  "  I  will  go  up." 
She  brushed  past  him.  He  waited  irresolutely ; 
he  could  scarcely  leave  her  alone  to  face  — 
what?  He  did  not  know.  As  he  stood  there 
he  found  himself  thinking,  mechanically, 
"  How  beautiful  she  is !  How  beautiful  she 
is ! "  But  only  for  a  moment.  Suddenly  he 
heard  her  scream. 

He  turned  and  ran  back  up  the  stairs.  The 
door  of  the  office  was  open ;  she  sat  within,  her 
father's  head  in  her  lap. 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  233 

"Is  he  dead?" 

"  No,"  she  said  with  an  extraordinary  calm- 
ness, "  he  has  a  fit,  I  think.  I  wish  you  would 
telephone  for  Dr.  Evans  —  there  is  the  tele- 
phone in  the  corner.  His  number  is  Main 
9641.  Ring  for  the  servants,  please."  Jerome 
rang;  then,  while  among  the  fragments  of  the 
broken  door  and  chair  Christopher  Wheeler 
breathed  stertorously  through  blue  lips,  his 
head  in  his  daughter's  lap,  telephoned  for  help. 

When  the  servants  came,  frightened,  intoler- 
ably curious,  he  went  away;  it  seemed  to  him 
the  only  thing  he  could  do.  He  walked  down 
to  the  office  with  Wheeler's  dictation  in  his 
pocket.  His  mind  was  in  a  terrible  whirl,  but 
one  fact  stood  out  clearly  —  when  she  saw 
him,  before  she  had  time  to  think  even,  he 
had  seen  in  lips  and  eyes  that  she  was  glad.  In 
spite  of  everything,  then,  he  was  happy. 


CHAPTER  XI 

Jerome  wondered  that  night  at  Northrop's 
how  much  of  the  day  he  should  tell  Elsie.  That 
the  events  of  the  afternoon  were  finished,  with- 
out more  ado,  he  did  not  for  a  moment  believe 
—  unless  Wheeler  died  in  his  fit.  He  knew 
that  even  then  he  would  be  called  upon  to  ex- 
plain his  presence  in  the  house.  But  he  de- 
cided to  say  nothing  until  he  was  asked.  He 
had  reported  at  the  office  that  Wheeler  was 
taken  suddenly  ill  while  he  was  there.  McKin- 
ney  raged  at  him  for  not  staying  to  cover  the 
affair,  and  then  sent  two  other  men  up  in  hot 
haste.  Jerome  knew  that  McKinney  would 
give  no  information  to  the  reporters  of  other 
papers,  who  might  find  out  from  the  servants 
that  a  man  from  the  Eagle  had  been  present  at 
the  time.  They  would  not,  probably,  even  seek 
to  find  out  who  the  Eagle  man  had  been ;  they 
would  only  curse  at  his  good  luck.  He  whis- 
pered to  Elsie,  therefore,  only  that  Wheeler  had 
234 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  235 

had  an  accident  that  afternoon,  and  that  he 
might  be  dying.  She  thought  it  best  not  to 
tell  her  father.  The  late  afternoon  papers  con- 
tained the  news  in  flaring  headlines,  with  very 
little  under  them.  Access  to  the  house  had  been 
denied  to  all.  Even  the  dailies  of  the  following 
morning  had  accounts  meagre  in  fact,  though 
padded  with  speculations.  They  all  published 
the  doctor's  bulletin;  Wheeler  was  suffering 
from  a  stroke  of  apoplexy,  brought  on  by 
overexertion.  He  was  unconscious,  but  in  no 
immediate  danger  of  death.  Some  of  the 
Wheeler  servants  resigned  and  left.  The  angry 
fits  of  their  master,  when  he  broke  furniture 
and  threatened  personal  violence,  generally 
had  this  effect.  Others  stayed  on;  the  wages 
were  good.  The  holidays  wore  on,  and  the 
sensation  failed  to  be  sustained.  The  Satur- 
day following  the  New  Year  Jerome  and  Han- 
Ion  left  again  for  Springfield. 

On  the  4th,  Sunday,  was  published,  as 
planned,  the  facsimile  of  the  list  of  the  legis- 
lature, with  notes  in  Wheeler's  writing.  That 
the  writing  was  Wheeler's  was  explained;  a 
facsimile  letter  of  Wheeler's  showing  the  same 
turns  of  N's  and  G's,  and  many  of  the  same 


236  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

figures,  was  published  below.  That  was  all. 
An  editorial  comment,  however,  double-leaded, 
signed  by  Northrop  himself,  drove  the  matter 
home.  It  was  calm,  clear,  cogent;  as  Jerome 
read  it,  he  felt  his  fears  for  Northrop  dissipate. 
The  effect  of  the  publication  is  too  fresh  in 
the  minds  of  every  one  to  need  description  here. 
Of  the  rage  of  some  men,  and  the  satisfaction 
of  others  —  depending  largely  on  the  notes  set 
opposite  their  names ;  of  the  disbelief  of  many, 
the  dozens  of  suits  for  libel  that  were  quickly 
filed,  as  Hanlon  had  predicted;  of  the  sale  of 
that  edition  of  the  Eagle,  of  which  in  expecta- 
tion of  the  demand,  three  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  copies  had  been  prepared,  all  of  which 
were  exhausted  by  ten  o'clock  in  the  forenoon ; 
of  the  request  of  a  New  York  daily,  which 
offered  by  telegraph  twenty-five  thousand  dol- 
lars for  the  original  document  from  which  the 
facsimile  was  made,  to  be  doubled  if  the  docu- 
ment proved  not  to  be  a  forgery  —  nobody  has 
forgotten  these  things,  at  least  no  one  in  Illi- 
nois. Hanlon  was  right,  as  usual ;  the  publica- 
tion was  the  biggest  newspaper  sensation  in 
years.  Wheeler's  suit  for  libel,  claiming  half  a 
million  dollars,  was  recorded  on  Monday  morn- 


THE   SECOND    GENERATION  237 

ing.  It  was  preceded,  eighteen  hours,  by  the 
arrest  in  Springfield  of  Jerome  Kent,  charged 
with  robbery,  assault  and  battery,  and  at- 
tempted murder.  Wheeler  had  recovered  from 
his  stroke  of  apoplexy  three  days  before,  but  he 
had  delayed  his  hand.  In  the  first  place  he 
knew  who  the  young  man  from  the  Eagle  was, 
now;  Jerome  Kent,  son  of  the  John  Kent  of 
old  acquaintance;  in  the  second  place,  he  had 
understood  the  fact  that  he  had  no  evidence 
against  him.  When  he  recognized  the  list  for 
the  one  he  had  lost  on  that  night,  he  wasted  no 
time ;  here  was  evidence  enough ;  the  warrant 
of  arrest  was  made  out  and  telegraphed  to 
Springfield.  It  was  not  until  the  next  day, 
when  Wheeler  came  to  file  his  suit  for  libel,  that 
he  realized  that  there  was  still  no  evidence  — 
such  as  he  could  use  —  against  young  Kent.  If 
he  adduced  the  list  as  evidence  in  the  criminal 
case,  what  was  the  effect  on  the  suit  for  libel  ? 
He  hesitated  long,  even  then.  There  was  a 
moment  when  he  thought  he  would  acknowl- 
edge openly  —  yes,  the  list  was  his,  the  hand- 
writing was  his.  He  would  pin  the  robbery  on 
this  devil,  and  send  him  to  his  deserts,  at  any 
cost.    Then  he  gave  that  up.    The  list  he  could 


238  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

not,  dared  not — even  he,  Christopher  Wheeler, 
dared  not  —  acknowledge.  The  libel  suits 
might  be  turned  against  him,  then ;  at  any  hint 
of  his  that  the  list  was  true,  his  bill  was  lost 
immediately,  his  influence  gone  forever.  And 
he  could  not  afford  to  lose  that  bill !  He  cursed 
the  mines  which  had  swallowed  his  money,  as 
he  had  cursed  them  often  before.  But  he  would 
press  the  case  against  young  Kent,  at  any  rate ; 
he  would  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  convict 
him;  he  would  swear  to  the  truth  himself,  and 
his  word  would  have  weight.  Bear  in  mind 
that  in  Christopher  Wheeler's  mind,  that  this 
young  man,  his  old  enemy's  son,  had  struck 
him  and  robbed  him,  there  was  no  shadow  of 
a  doubt. 

Hanlon,  Northrop,  and  Jerome  talked  the 
matter  over  before  Jerome  consulted  any  law- 
yer. Northrop  had  bailed  Jerome  out  within 
three  hours.  He  was  useless  in  the  confer- 
ence ;  his  fingers  clutched  and  writhed,  his  eyes 
shot  fire,  he  proposed  schemes  impracticable  as 
suicide ! 

"  You  see,"  Hanlon  said,  "  you  are  in  no 
danger,  for  the  only  evidence  against  you 
Wheeler   cannot  possibly  use.     If   he   dared 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  239 

to  say  '  That  list  the  Eagle  published  was  in 
my  pocket-book  the  night  they  robbed  me/ 
things  would  begin  to  look  black.  He  could 
easily  prove  who  brought  the  story  into  the  of- 
fice, you  know ;  the  deduction  would  be  for  the 
jury,  and  they  would  make  it  unless  you  had  a 
mighty  good  lawyer.  But  you  are  safe,  be- 
cause that's  just  what  he  daren't  say.  If  he 
did,  he  would  step  into  his  own  coffin." 

"  See  here,  Hanlon,"  returned  Jerome, 
calmly,  "  I  may  be  wrong,  but  it  sounds  to  me 
as  though  you  thought  I  was  guilty,  and 
wanted  to  squirm  out  on  a  technicality.  Do 
you  think  I  slugged  that  old  man  and  robbed 
him?" 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  answered  Hanlon,  directly. 

"  You're  wrong,"  replied  Jerome.  Hanlon 
looked  at  him  keenly,  and  then  reached  out  his 
hand.  "  Glad  to  hear  it,"  he  said  briefly. 
"  I've  been  admiring  your  sand,  but  all  the 
same  I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  Well,  now,"  he 
continued,  "  we  can  discuss  this  more  in  har- 
mony. The  question  is,  now,  not  how  to  bring 
a  man  off  free,  but  how  to  prevent  an  innocent 
one  from  any  injury.  As  I  say,  I  can't  see 
where  you  can  be  touched.    He'll  swear  he  rec- 


24O  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

ognized  you  just  before  you  hit  him  —  I'm 
saying  what  he  will  say,  understand.  But  a 
clever  lawyer  will  rip  that  recognition  in  ten 
thousand  pieces.  If  he  can  recognize  you  as 
the  robber  now,  why  couldn't  he  when  you  took 
him  home  on  the  same  night?  If  you  were  the 
robber,  would  you  be  likely  to  publish  an  ac- 
count of  the  affair?  Where  is  there  any  evi- 
dence of  robbery  at  all  ?  " 

"  I  burned  the  pocket-book,"  cried  Nor- 
throp. "  I  burned  it  myself  here  in  this  grate. 
Oh,  yes;  I  took  care  of  that." 

"  Well  —  then  that's  all  right,"  answered 
Hanlon,  in  a  mild  voice.  "  And  you're  as  safe 
as  government  bonds,  Kent.  Are  you  going  to 
see  a  lawyer  now  ?    Come  along." 

"  Get  the  best,"  counselled  the  old  man, 
keenly,  cunningly.  "  Get  Woods.  Of  course, 
you  will  have  no  expenses  anywhere." 

Hanlon  and  Jerome  went  out.  "  Come  into 
my  office,"  demanded  Hanlon,  when  they  had 
descended  to  the  sixth  floor. 

"  Do  you  know  where  your  danger  lies, 
Kent  ?  "  he  asked  when  they  were  alone.  "  It's 
in  the  old  man.  He  thinks  you've  done  this, 
just  as  I  did,  but  he's  wild  to  get  you  off,  of 


THE   SECOND    GENERATION  24I 

course.  That  would  be  all  right.  But  I  be- 
lieve he's  cracked."  Hanlon  sat  back  to  see 
how  Kent  took  his  statement. 

"Why?" 

"  Why  ?  Look  at  him,"  answered  the  politi- 
cal editor,  quietly.  "  Listen  to  him !  He 
shouted  out  there  that  he'd  burned  the  pocket- 
book  as  if  no  one  was  within  a  thousand  miles. 
Yes,  Kent,  I  believe  he's  crazy;  and  the  best 
thing  his  people  can  do,  if  he's  got  any,  is  to 
put  him  in  a  sanitarium  right  away."  He 
touched  his  hair  with  a  small  comb  before  a 
mirror  on  the  wall.  He  was  as  impassive  as  if 
he  had  been  discussing  dishonesty  in  the  presi- 
dential chair  —  if  one  can  imagine  such  a 
thing.  He  returned  to  Springfield  that  night, 
leaving  Jerome  to  follow  in  a  day. 

Should  he  tell  Elsie,  Jerome  wondered,  what 
this  man  thought  ?  The  quick  resolution  came 
—  he  must.  He  had  seen  very  little  of  her,  of 
course,  lately.  Now  he  was  to  confront  her 
with  more  trouble.  But  she  deserved  honesty, 
if  ever  a  girl  deserved  it.  She  took  the  news 
as  quietly  as  ever,  when  he  called  that  night. 

"  I  have  been  wondering  that  people  did  not 
see  it,"  she  said.     "  Poor  papa !  " 


242  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

Jerome  took  her  hand.     "  And  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  done  all  my  crying,"  she  answered. 
"  I  must  look  out  for  mamma  and  my  father 
now." 

"  Had  you  not  better  talk  the  matter  over 
with  some  one  —  Judge  Hetheridge,  for  in- 
stance ? "  he  suggested.  But  she  shook  her 
head. 

"  Not  yet,"  she  answered.  "  What  could  he 
do,  that  I  cannot  ?  And  —  I  don't  want  to  be 
the  first  to  point  out  —  anything  wrong  — 
with  papa." 

"  But  you  spoke  of  it  to  me,"  he  urged. 

"  Yes,  Jerome,"  she  said. 

"  Thank  you,  Elsie,"  he  answered.  Could 
he  intrude  on  her  what  Hanlon  had  suggested 
—  that  in  Northrop  lay  danger  for  him?  He 
went  away  even  ashamed  that  he  had  remem- 
bered it.  The  rest  of  the  evening  he  gave  to 
Chambers,  who  was  wild  with  excitement. 
That  Jerome  stood  in  any  danger  of  conviction 
Chambers  could  not  believe;  and  so  the  mere 
fact  of  his  being  arrested  and  out  on  bail  sur- 
rounded him,  in  the  young  reporter's  eyes,  with 
a  kind  of  romantic  interest.  "  Dick  Turpin  " 
he  christened  him  at  once,  and  wove  a  string 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  243 

of  adventures  about  him  —  the  modern  rob- 
ber, of  improved  parentage  and  with  improved 
methods. 

"Oh,  Jerry!"  he  cried  with  delight.  "I 
have  got  something  for  my  people  —  in  the  sto- 
ries —  to  do  and  say  now !  Thanks,  old  man, 
thanks!  Who  cares  for  the  dramatic-critic 
business  now?  Old  Hengle  can  hang  on  till 
his  fingers  cramp,  if  he  wants  to;  it's  going  to 
William  Chambers  now,  the  Chicago  short- 
story  writer,  vice  Richard  Harding  Davis  re- 
signed—  and  you  shall  have  half  the  profits, 
Richard  the  highwayman !  " 

Early  the  next  morning  Jerome  was  off  once 
more  to  Springfield. 


CHAPTER  XII 

After  the  indictment  the  trial  was  pushed 
rapidly  on;  neither  side  desired  any  delay. 
Meanwhile  the  affairs  of  the  gas  bill,  which 
had  been  in  extreme  peril,  were  taking  a  slight 
turn  for  the  better.  The  prompt  institution  of 
Wheeler's  libel  suit,  although  expected,  had, 
nevertheless,  some  effect.  The  publication  of 
the  facsimile  list  had  been,  in  short,  so  bold  a 
stroke  that  it  had  been  almost  too  bold ;  its 
boldness,  taken  in  conjunction  with  a  rumour 
or  two  which  began  to  creep  about,  that  Nor- 
throp of  the  Eagle  was  not  the  man  he  had 
been  once,  made  many  doubt  the  genuineness 
of  the  document.  The  men  who  were  marked 
"  O.  K."  had  many  of  them  been  known  as 
open  supporters  of  the  bill;  the  men  marked 
"  N.  G."  were  known  as  strong  opposers. 
Why  should  not  the  rest  be  guesses;  libellous, 
of  course,  but  what  was  an  action  for  libel 
against  a  big  city  paper,  anxious  for  a  sensa- 
244 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  245 

tion?  Such  was  the  reasoning  in  the  country 
districts;  and  the  men  of  the  list  began  to  re- 
cover their  equanimity,  and  even  those  marked 
with  figures  to  wonder,  some  of  them,  whether 
they  might  not  after  all  vote  for  the  gas  bill 
when  it  came  up.  It  was  delayed,  to  give  just 
this  feeling  a  chance  to  grow. 

"  The  trial  comes  off  before  Hetheridge,,, 
Jerome's  lawyer  said.  "  That  is  not  unfavour- 
able to  us ;  he  is  no  friend  of  Wheeler's.  Be- 
sides, he  is  altogether  the  best  man.  Some  of 
the  rest  of  them  may  know  more  law,  but  he 
knows  more  human  nature,  and  I  shall  base 
a  good  many  of  my  objections  on  human  na- 
ture." 

"  I  know  him." 

"Personally?" 

Jerome  nodded. 

"Want  a  change  of  venue?"  was  the  sus- 
picious lawyer's  next  question. 

"  No,  indeed,"  answered  Jerome.  But  he 
remembered  —  how  far  back  it  seemed !  —  the 
first  day  he  had  come  to  Chicago,  seven  or 
eight  months  before,  and  had  met  the  Judge  at 
his  club.  The  Judge  had  warned  him  humor- 
ously to  keep  away  in  business  hours.    Now  he 


246  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

was  going  in  business  hours,  nevertheless.  He 
wondered  if  the  Judge  would  remember. 

The  Judge  remembered.  It  was  most  un- 
professional of  him  to  do  so,  but  he  remem- 
bered. He  remembered  also  one  night  at  the 
Northrops',  when  the  old  man  had  begun  — 
"  Kent  has  a  feud  with  Wheeler,  you  see,"  and 
then  had  checked  himself.  Now  Hetheridge 
wished  young  Kent  would  take  a  change  of 
venue.  But  he  was  not  unprofessional  enough 
to  suggest  that. 

The  rooms  of  the  criminal  court  are  never 
without  their  crowd.  Faces  among  it  become 
almost  as  well  known  to  the  bailiffs  as  the  face 
of  the  judge.  Men,  and  women  even,  find  in 
the  courtroom  their  stage  and  their  stadium. 
And  yet  one  trial  is  to  the  ordinary  spectator 
very  like  another  —  the  judge  and  jury  above, 
the  ring  of  lawyers  who  advance  toward  them, 
and  converse  in  tones  so  low  the  ears  often 
strain  vainly  to  catch  the  words ;  the  long  dull 
succession  of  witnesses,  endeavouring  with 
more  or  less  success  to  tell  or  conceal  the  truth ; 
the  reporters  lounging  or  scribbling  in  their 
choice  seats,  envied  by  all ;  the  crowd,  shifting, 
curious,  silent,  the  great  blue  German  or  Irish 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  247 

policemen,  swollen  with  majesty  and  beer,  and 
the  accused  in  his  special  chair.  To  the  judge, 
to  the  lawyers,  to  the  looker-on,  one  trial  is 
very  like  another.  It  is  only  the  accused  who 
catches  the  note  of  individuality,  finding  his 
trial,  out  of  myriads,  still  unstaled  by  common- 
place. There  is,  however,  a  certain  element  of 
difference  which  to  some  extent  regulates  the 
size  of  the  crowd.  If  the  case  has  been  widely 
advertised  by  the  newspapers ;  if  the  principal 
is  a  man  of  reputation,  good  or  very  bad ;  and 
especially  if  there  is  over  the  matter  the  veil  of 
a  mystery  which  must  be  torn  across,  then  the 
people  come  —  the  people  who  love  to  see  the 
twistings  of  a  fly  on  a  pin  and  of  a  man  on 
trial  for  his  character  or  his  life.  Then  the 
professional  attendants,  as  one  might  call  them, 
the  habitues,  are  swallowed  up,  lost  to  view  in 
the  tide  of  new  faces.  In  a  little  while  the  at- 
traction ceases ;  the  tide  recedes ;  and  they  re- 
appear once  more  day  after  day.  The  case  of 
the  State  versus  Jerome  Kent  seemed  to  involve 
no  mystery ;  not  more  than  fifty  people  in  Chi- 
cago, perhaps,  knew  Jerome  by  sight;  but, 
because  it  was  well  understood  that  this  case 
grew  out  of  the  long  and  deadly  struggle  be- 


248  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

tween  the  Eagle  newspaper  and  the  Union 
Gas  Bill,  between  Henry  Northrop  and  Chris 
Wheeler,  the  crowd  came,  filling  the  courtroom. 
Northrop  insisted  upon  being  present  at 
every  session.  That  he  was  rapidly  going  to 
pieces  under  the  strain  of  his  fight  was  an  open 
secret  now.  In  the  month  between  Jerome's 
arrest  and  his  trial,  the  old  man  aged  ten  years. 
He  was  a  shadow  of  himself.  His  physician 
insisted  upon  his  retirement  to  a  rest-cure,  to 
the  South,  anywhere  to  get  away  from  the 
strain  that  was  killing  him.  But  Northrop 
paid  no  attention.  "  I  have  my  work  to  do," 
he  said  angrily,  if  he  answered  at  all,  when 
they  remonstrated  with  him.  He  went  two 
and  three  times  a  day  to  consult  with  Woods, 
until  that  busy  lawyer  warned  his  doorkeeper 
that  he  was  out  to  Northrop.  He  would  stare 
at  Jerome,  in  the  two  days  before  the  trial, 
when  Kent  came  up  from  Springfield,  for  fif- 
teen minutes  without  speaking,  and  then,  smil- 
ing, with  the  glint  of  his  old  smile,  whisper, 
with  a  glance  around  to  see  that  he  was  not 
overheard,  "  Never  mind,  Jerome;  it  is  safe. 
I  burnt  it  myself."  With  a  pang  Jerome  real- 
ized that,  as  Hanlon  said,  the  old  man  believed 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  24Q 

him  guilty,  and  was  only  conscious  of  getting 
him  free  at  any  cost.  Now  and  then  Northrop 
fell  into  fits  of  black  abstraction;  grew  de- 
spondent; once  he  advised  Jerome  to  forfeit 
his  bail,  offering  to  supply  him  with  all  the 
money  he  needed  to  go  anywhere.  Jerome 
gently  declined.  From  these  fits  Northrop 
quickly  recovered,  and  resumed  his  attitude  of 
cunning  confidence. 

The  trial  began  on  the  4th  of  February. 
On  the  day  before,  sitting  in  his  little  room  on 
Huron  Street,  which  he  had  kept  even  while  he 
was  in  Springfield,  Jerome  spent  a  long  hour 
thinking  over  his  past  year.  To-morrow  he 
was  to  be  examined  for  the  assault  and  robbery 
of  the  father  of  the  girl  he  loved,  the  girl  who 
loved  him.  Surely  he  had  tangled  his  affairs 
badly  in  this  first  essay  of  life !  Was  it  all  his 
own  fault?  He  had  been  bound  by  this  old 
promise,  and  it  had  pulled  him  here.  He  be- 
lieved that,  proved  guilty  or  innocent,  his  life 
was  wrecked.  He  might  still  be  successful,  but 
he  could  not  be  happy.  He  was  a  young  man 
whose  ideas  of  life  were  gathered  largely  from 
books.  He  knew  that  he  was  deeply  and  finally 
in  love  with  a  girl  now  forever  separated  from 


250  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

him;  and  he  believed  that  he  could  not  love 
again.  If  only  he  might  have  had  counsel,  at 
the  moment,  from  some  person  of  hard,  prac- 
tical common  sense,  who  could  have  told  him 
that  only  in  literature  is  one  love  all;  that  in 
life  we  love,  and  love,  and  love  again !  And  yet, 
who  knows?  Perhaps  the  ideals  of  literature 
are  now  and  then  as  true  as  the  truths  of  life. 
He  recalled  the  day  that  he  had  met  Her,  and 
their  unconventional  and  close  acquaintance; 
the  day  she  had  for  the  first  time  failed  to 
come ;  and  the  day  she  had  gone  away  forever. 
He  thought  of  the  night  he  had  brought  her 
father  home  —  for  which  he  now  stood  on  trial 
—  and  how  the  next  day  he  had  found  out  his 
own  miserable  unhappiness.  He  knew  that 
after  all  he  was  not  as  innocent  as  he  had  led 
Hanlon  to  believe.  He  had  not  assaulted,  but 
he  had  robbed.  Robbed  was  the  word.  He  had 
stolen  the  property  of  Wheeler,  and  though  he 
had  stolen  it  for  no  advantage  or  profit  of  his 
own,  the  crime  was  nothing  less.  If  he  were  to 
put  himself  on  the  stand,  and  tell  the  story  ex- 
actly as  it  happened,  with  no  further  accusation 
or  charge  from  Wheeler,  he  would  still  be  found 
guilty  on  the  law,  and  sent  to  prison.    Was  a 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  25 1 

man,  then,  so  innocent  if  he  dared  not  tell  the 
truth  of  the  matter  in  which  he  was  concerned  ? 
Wheeler  judged  him  wrongly;  but  Wheeler's 
judgment  was  not  wholly  in  the  wrong. 
Thinking  of  all  this,  Jerome  felt  that  he  had 
forfeited  his  right,  the  right  Ethel  Wheeler  had 
unconsciously  given  him,  to  see  her  again,  tell 
her  he  loved  her,  and  demand  again  to  know 
if  she  loved  him  in  return;  and  so  he  deter- 
mined to  destroy  her  picture.  He  went  to 
the  drawer  where  he  had  placed  it  months  be- 
fore, but  it  was  not  there.  He  searched  the 
little  room  thoroughly  —  an  easy  task  —  and 
could  find  no  trace  of  it.  He  summoned  Mrs. 
Kenealy.  Had  she  seen  a  small  photograph,  of 
such  and  such  a  sort,  at  any  time,  in  his  bureau 
drawer?  She  repudiated  the  idea  with  a  cold 
asperity.  She  was  not  in  the  habit  of  looking 
in  her  lodgers'  bureau  drawers!  He  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  some  one  among  the  curious 
maids,  attracted  by  the  picture  as  she  turned 
over  his  goods,  had  slipped  it  away.  When  he 
realized  that  it  was  gone,  he  knew  at  once  that 
it  would  not  have  been  possible  for  him  to  de- 
stroy it.  His  heart  ached  as  though  some  one 
had  torn  a  piece  away. 


2$2  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

He  stood  his  trial  on  the  following  day.  The 
room  was  crowded ;  but  as  the  hours  wore  on, 
and  nothing  happened  but  the  reiterated  ques- 
tions of  one  side  or  the  other,  as  juror  after 
juror  was  drawn,  followed  by  the  Judge's 
"  Excused,"  or  the  rare  peremptory  challenge, 
the  morning  slipped  away.  The  afternoon  ses- 
sion was  like  the  morning.  The  whole  day  was 
consumed  in  securing  a  jury,  but  at  last  they 
were  all  there,  measurably  intelligent,  measur- 
ably honest  —  the  jury  of  his  peers,  ready  to 
decide  whether  Jerome  Kent  should  wear  a 
spotted  name  or  not  through  life.  To  them, 
too,  this  trial  was  individual  and  interesting. 
One  of  them  was  a  young  fellow  of  twenty- 
three.  As  he  sat  in  his  place  with  the  rest,  a 
conscious  smile  rested  continually  on  his  lips; 
and  Jerome  knew  that  the  boy  felt  the  eyes  of 
the  whole  courtroom  to  be  upon  him,  and  en- 
joyed them.  After  that,  Jerome  himself  was 
less  nervous,  more  at  ease.  He  realized  that  the 
focus  of  attention  was  a  little  divided. 

He  remained  that  night  in  the  jail.  They 
gave  him  whatever  he  asked  for  —  paper,  and 
pen,  and  books.  He  wrote  and  read  all  night, 
quite  unable  to  sleep.    The  prison  horror  crept 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  2$$ 

upon  his  sensitive  nerves.  What  should  he  do, 
he  wondered,  if  they  found  him  guilty?  On 
the  following  morning,  when  the  actual  trial 
began,  he  appeared  haggard  in  his  chair. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  outlined  his  case. 
They  would  prove  the  prisoner  had  struck  the 
blow ;  they  would  prove  that  he  had  possession 
of  the  pocket-book.  Such  were  the  salient 
points.  He  was  confident  and  debonair. 
Woods  was  contemptuous.  He  outlined  the 
truth.  Kent  had  assisted  the  old  man  home, 
and  then  reported  the  matter  to  his  paper,  and 
had  gone  home  to  bed.  Neither  lawyer  spoke  a 
word  of  what  was  in  every  man's  mind  —  the 
list  and  the  facsimile.  Both  sides  desired  to 
keep  it  out  of  the  case.  The  state's  attorney 
called  Christopher  Wheeler,  and  the  manipu- 
lator of  Union  Gas  got  upon  the  stand.  In 
him,  as  in  Northrop,  the  month  had  wrought 
changes.  His  eyes  were  more  sunken,  or  his 
face  puffier;  his  voice  was  hoarse  and  disa- 
greeable, not  the  lion's  roar  it  had  been  once. 
The  scar  still  lay  upon  his  forehead,  running 
into  his  hair;  and  from  time  to  time,  as  he 
gave  his  evidence,  he  touched  it  with  his  hand. 

He  identified  the  prisoner  positively  as  the 


254  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

man  who  had  struck  him.  Had  he  recognized 
him  a  few  minutes  after  the  assault,  when  the 
prisoner  returned?  Objection  by  Woods  to 
the  form  of  the  question;  sustained.  Very 
well,  said  the  state's  attorney.  He  had  recog- 
nized the  prisoner  a  few  minutes  later,  as  the 
man  who  had  struck  him?  Yes,  he  had;  he 
was,  however,  dazed  and  bleeding,  and  could 
not  think  what  to  do.  What  had  the  prisoner 
said  when  he  took  him  (Wheeler)  home?  He 
wanted  to  go  into  the  house.  Why  ?  To  finish 
his  job,  the  witness  supposed.  Question  and 
answer  stricken  out;  but  not  before  they  had 
had  their  carefully  calculated  effect  upon  the 
jury  —  and  the  spectators.  The  admission  by 
the  prosecution,  that  Kent  had  helped  the  old 
man  home,  had  been  thought  a  weak  spot  in 
their  case.  Why  should  a  highwayman  do  a 
thing  so  kindly?  Here  was  a  plausible  reason 
deftly  slipped  in.  The  boldness  of  the  fellow ! 
The  crowd  was  actually  tickled,  and  began  to 
look  at  Jerome  with  admiration. 

Wheeler  went  on  with  his  testimony.  He 
had  never  been  able  to  find  his  man,  until  a 
month  and  a  half  ago,  on  December  24,  the 
prisoner  himself  came  to  the  house  to  inter- 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  255 

view  him  —  for  the  Eagle.  He  had  recog- 
nized him  at  once.  The  excitement  had 
brought  on  a  fit  of  apoplexy.  Cross-examined, 
he  admitted  the  probability  of  his  assault  on 
Jerome  that  day,  though  he  denied  knowledge 
of  it.  The  fit  must  have  been  on  him  then, 
for  he  knew  nothing,  from  the  moment  of 
recognition,  to  the  next  day.  Otherwise  he 
stuck  to  his  story;  growled;  would  not  be 
shaken.  When  he  stepped  down,  he  had  made 
as  strong  a  case  as  could  be  expected,  but 
Woods  was  satisfied  and  calm.  "  Nothing  in 
it,"  he  said  in  Jerome's  ear. 

Jerome  himself  cou4d  see  that  the  old  man 
had  confined  himself  —  necessarily  —  to  asser- 
tions. They  called  then  two  or  three  minor 
witnesses,  to  prove  that  Jerome  had  brought 
the  account  of  the  assault  into  the  office. 
Woods  did  not  cross-examine.  He  would  have 
admitted  all  they  swore  to,  without  hesitation. 
Jerome  made  no  denial  that  he  had  been  on  the 
scene  a  few  moments  later,  and  helped  Wheeler 
home. 

In  the  noon  recess  Woods  was  confident  to 
the  point  of  gayety.  "  As  the  case  stands,"  he 
said,  "  and  it  seems  to  be  about  finished,  there 


256  THE    SECOND   GENERATION 

isn't  a  point  against  you.  What  Wheeler  said 
goes  for  nothing.  Nothing  links  you  to  the 
blow,  nor  to  the  robbery.  He  says  yes,  you  say 
no;  your  word  is  as  good  as  his.  When  the 
prosecution  finishes,  I  shall  move  that  the  case 
be  taken  from  the  jury." 

Jerome  assented  with  a  nod.  The  sickish 
feeling  of  abhorrence  still  lay  on  him  like  a 
weight.  What  if  they  found  him  guilty?  As 
he  sat  in  his  chair  through  the  morning,  he 
told  himself  over  and  over  that  Wheeler 
wanted  mere  revenge;  that  justice  demanded 
no  penalty  from  him.  He  would  have  hesitated 
to  pay  it,  at  all  events,  for  since  his  single  night 
in  jail  freedom  seemed  a  matter  fiercely  to  be 
desired.  He  agreed  with  the  lawyer,  now,  in 
anticipating  a  quick  and  happy  verdict.  If  they 
could  have  used  the  facsimile  against  him, 
their  task  would  have  been  easy.  But  they 
could  not  use  it,  and  other  evidence  against  him 
there  was  none.  He  should  have  been  su- 
premely confident.  But  only  certainties,  fin- 
ished contests,  can  give  entire  confidence  or 
despair  to  the  contestant  himself. 

After  luncheon  he  resumed  his  place.  The 
room  was  as  full,  when  he  was  brought  in,  as  it 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  257 

had  been  when  he  left  it.  He  wondered  whether 
all  those  people  had  sat  there  motionless  while 
he  waited  outside.  He  looked  out  over  the 
crowd,  enveloped  in  the  odour,  though  not  the 
haze,  of  tobacco.  There  were  hundreds  of 
faces  turned  to  his,  which  he  had  never  seen, 
eyes  which  found  him  only  a  character  in  a 
yarn,  an  actor  in  a  drama  for  their  amusement. 
But  among  them  he  saw  some  he  knew  —  Nor- 
throp, sitting  by  Hanlon,  quivering,  haggard, 
and  old;  Chambers,  his  jollity  gone,  tense  now 
with  anxiety  and  hope;  men  from  the  Eagle 
in  the  reporters'  seats;  Victor  sketching 
calmly ;  and  Hetheridge,  his  red  face  gloomed 
with  judicial  solemnity.  The  reporters  said 
that  something  was  wrong  with  old  man  Heth- 
eridge; not  a  joke  had  he  sprung  in  the  trial, 
but  sat  cold  and  stern  as  ever  Jeffries  was. 

Now  the  prosecuting  attorney  recalled  Chris- 
topher Wheeler.  The  old  man  had  insisted  on 
it.  During  the  noon  recess  he  had  been  chafed ; 
he  thought  the  case  was  going  against  him; 
rather  than  see  it  so,  he  would  dig  up  his  dead 
past,  and  show  cause,  between  these  two,  of 
hatred.  So  the  state's  attorney  put  the  ques- 
tions Wheeler  had  told  him  to  put,  and  brought 


258  THE    SECOND   GENERATION 

out  the  story  of  the  old  feud.  Wheeler,  sitting 
with  deep-set  red-rimmed  eyes,  his  strong  old 
face  never  changing,  to  ruin  the  son  gave  evi- 
dence how  he  had  killed  the  father.  Perhaps 
when  he  was  in  the  current  of  the  recital  he  was 
sorry  he  had  once  begun;  but  one  does  not 
know.  At  least,  he  told  it  steadily,  unwaver- 
ingly, sternly.  But  Northrop  grew  more 
nervous  every  instant,  as  the  truth  was  estab- 
lished that  something  like  a  vengeance  toward 
Wheeler  had  lain  upon  Jerome's  back.  Heth- 
eridge,  too,  sitting  moodily,  hearing  the  end 
of  the  story  Northrop  had  once  mysteriously 
begun  to  tell  him  at  the  dinner;  sitting  in  the 
midst  of  the  trial,  as  he  stared  at  the  young  man 
in  jeopardy  of  his  good  name,  Hetheridge 
forgot  again  his  rigid,  superhuman,  profes- 
sional ethics,  and  wished  that  young  Kent  had 
taken  a  change  of  venue.  One  must  remem- 
ber occasionally  that  a  judge  is  only  a  man. 
Wheeler  stepped  down  without  cross-examina- 
tion. "  Not  worth  while,"  whispered  Woods. 
"  This  doesn't  touch  the  facts." 

The  prosecuting  attorney  called  William 
Edeson,  a  name  wholly  unknown  to  Jerome. 
The  prisoner  was  full  of  a  fierce  anger  now. 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  259 

His  own  case  faded  from  his  thoughts; 
there  was  his  father's  to  be  considered. 
Wheeler,  who  had  killed  his  father,  now 
boasted  of  the  crime;  told  it  openly  in  court; 
used  it  against  his  father's  son!  He  allowed 
Woods  to  let  the  old  man  go  without  cross-ex- 
amination. They  might  have  blackened 
Wheeler's  reputation,  but  to  what  end?  Was 
it  not  black  enough  already  ?  And  if  they  bore 
upon  the  fact  that  Wheeler  had  in  effect  mur- 
dered the  elder  Kent,  they  just  so  far  aided 
Wheeler  by  establishing  Jerome's  motive. 
What  the  boy  wanted  now  was  to  get  free 
quickly ;  and  then  —  and  then  —  Jerome 
allowed  the  thought  to  cross  his  mind  that  then 
there  might  be  a  trial  in  which  Wheeler  would 
have  something  to  complain  of.  But  the  man 
William  Edeson  was  undergoing  examina- 
tion. 

His  name?  His  profession?  Detective. 
His  connection  with  the  case  he  told.  He  had 
searched  the  prisoner's  room,  and  had  found 
—  did  he  recognize  this  photograph?  Yes; 
he  had  found  it  there.  He  detailed  the  circum- 
stances. 

"  I    desire   to   introduce   in    evidence    this 


260  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

photograph  of  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Wheeler,'' 
cried  the  state's  attorney.  "  As  I  shall  prove, 
it  was  in  Mr.  Wheeler's  pocket-book  on  the 
night  he  was  assaulted  and  the  pocket-book 
taken  from  him.  We  have  shown  that  it  was 
discovered  later  in  the  prisoner's  room.  Have 
I  your  Honour's  permission  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  to  burn  it,  I  told  you  to  burn  it !" 
The  voice,  shrill,  agonized,  and  shivering,  rang 
through  the  courtroom.  "  I  told  you  to  burn 
it,  I  told  you  to  burn  it !  "  Northrop  was  on 
his  feet,  his  eyes  blazing,  his  whole  body  trem- 
bling; Hanlon  attempted  to  pull  him  down; 
the  audience  sprang  up  in  amazement.  The 
Judge  rapped  fiercely  with  his  gavel;  the  big 
policemen,  seizing  men  one  in  each  hand, 
crushed  them  down.  "  Order,  order !  "  But 
the  voice  rose  a  third  time  in  a  scream,  "  I  told 
you  to  burn  it,  I  told  you  to  burn  it !  "  Two 
bailiffs,  crowding  in,  attempted  to  take  him 
away,  but  the  old  man  struggled  fiercely.  At 
length  they  led  him  out.  The  state's  attorney 
stretched  out  his  arm  with  dramatic  gesture. 

"  Who  can  hide  truth  for  long?"  he  cried. 

"  I  object ! "  Woods,  too,  sprang  up. 
"  Such  incidents  cannot  be  presented  to  the 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  26 1 

jury  except  when  properly  introduced  as  evi- 
dence." 

"  Objection  sustained,"  answered  Hether- 
idge.  "  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  you  will 
disregard,  in  your  deliberations,  the  words 
uttered  by  spectators." 

"  But  I  would  call  your  attention,"  pro- 
claimed the  state's  attorney,  recovering  his 
suavity  the  instant  Hetheridge  ended,  "  to  the 
photograph  just  introduced."  And  the  rou- 
tine went  on. 

But  the  prisoner  was  turned  to  stone.  It  is 
easy  to  say  that  when  he  missed  the  picture 
he  should  have  foreseen  this  end ;  had  he  con- 
fided in  Woods,  the  lawyer  would  have  told 
him  that  at  once.  But  the  suspicion  had  never 
come  to  Jerome.  That  the  revengeful  old  man 
could  drag  even  his  daughter,  even  Her,  into 
the  mud  of  such  a  case,  he  would  have  found 
unbelievable,  if  to  him  it  had  not  been  un- 
thinkable at  all.  Now  he  desired  only  to  get 
away  alone  with  his  sorrow.  It  was  intol- 
erable to  sit  there  before  the  crowded  room. 
From  fierce  anger  to  numbing  grief  he  had 
been  hurried  in  a  moment  of  time,  and  his 
nerves  were  shocked  and  blunted  so  that  even 


262  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

Northrop's  cry  failed  to  reach  his  heart,  and 
his  old  friend's  pitiful  breaking-down  was  like 
a  play  before  dead  eyes.  He  felt  dimly  but 
surely  that  his  case  was  lost ;  nothing  he  could 
do,  no  objections  Woods  could  enter,  no  ruling 
of  the  Judge,  would  blot  from  the  minds  of 
those  twelve  jurymen  the  wild  sincerity  of 
Northrop's  cry.  When  the  state  had  shown 
that  the  photograph  was  in  Wheeler's  pocket- 
book  the  night  he  was  robbed,  the  case  for  the 
prosecution  was  ended.  The  defence  had  no 
witnesses  to  introduce.  Woods  urged  that  the 
case  be  taken  from  the  jury.  No  evidence, 
he  asserted,  had  been  brought  out  to  connect 
his  client  with  the  assault;  for  Wheeler's  rec- 
ognition of  him,  dazed  and  bleeding  as  the 
victim  admitted  himself  to  have  been,  was 
patently  a  farce.  The  photograph  had  come 
into  his  client's  possession  through  circum- 
stances which  only  the  chivalry  of  his  client  — 
and  here  his  client,  stolid  in  his  chair,  quivered 
perceptibly  —  the  chivalry  of  his  client,  in 
marked  contrast  to  the  curious  brutality  of  the 
young  woman's  own  father,  prevented  him 
from  detailing.  And  so  he  proceeded.  "  The 
prosecution  has  admitted/'  he  finished,  chang- 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  263 

ing  his  tone,  "  that  my  client,  Mr.  Kent,  helped 
Mr.  Wheeler  home  —  truly  a  genial  high- 
wayman, full  of  courtesy,  and  to  the  manner 
born!  It  has  more  than  admitted,  even  gone 
to  the  trouble  of  proving,  that  my  client  had 
published  an  account  of  the  robbery  —  truly  a 
bold  highwayman,  whose  deeds  of  evil,  con- 
trary to  the  Scriptures,  love  light  rather  than 
darkness !  I  ask,  then,  that  your  Honour  take 
the  case  from  the  jury  and  dismiss  it." 

"  Denied,"  said  Hetheridge,  in  the  usual  me- 
chanical judge's  voice.  He  gave  the  jury  the 
usual  instructions  briefly.  "  The  jury  will  re- 
tire and  consider  upon  their  verdict." 

When  the  jury  had  gone  out,  there  was  a 
buzz  in  the  courtroom,  quickly  hushed  by  the 
bailiffs.  Few  went  away ;  there  seemed  a  gen- 
eral feeling  that  the  verdict  would  be  quickly 
returned.  Jerome  sat  with  his  eyes  on  the 
floor.  He  did  not  see  Chambers,  his  face 
drawn,  searching  with  his  eyes  the  door  of  the 
jury  room;  the  reporters  writing  like  mad; 
the  empty  seat  of  the  Judge;  nor  the  curious 
crowd. 

"Hold  tight,"  said  Woods,  "for  I  think 
they  have  beaten  us,  my  boy."     He  had  his 


264  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

own  sorrow;  he  had,  he  feared,  lost  a  case 
that  he  might  easily  have  won  if  his  client  had 
trusted  him.  But  there  was  something  in 
Kent's  attitude  that  overcame,  for  the  mo- 
ment, his  impatience  with  pity.  The  Judge 
returned,  the  jury  filed  in.  The  old,  old  for- 
mula began. 

"  Gentlemen,  have  you  considered  your  ver- 
dict?" 

"  We  have.  We  find  the  prisoner  at  the  bar 
guilty  as  charged  in  the  indictment." 

"  Is  this  the  verdict  of  each  of  you  individ- 
ually ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Mr.  Clerk,  poll  the  jury."  It  was  done. 
Jerome  still  sat  with  his  eyes  on  the  floor. 
Even  the  words  of  the  foreman  could  scarcely 
touch  him  now.     To-morrow,  perhaps. 

"  Will  you  have  sentence  pronounced  now?  " 
The  crowd  hung  on  the  answer.  Would  the 
prisoner  disappoint  them  here  in  the  last  scene 
of  their  play? 

"  Now,  if  you  please.'' 

"  Stand  up."  Jerome  stood  up  mechani- 
cally, mechanically  heard  and  comprehended 
the  words  of  the  Judge.     "  One  year  in  the 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  265 

penitentiary,  to  serve  at  hard  labour  until  dis- 
charged." The  courtroom  was  cleared,  and 
they  took  him  back  to  his  cell  in  the  jail. 

Few  short  trials  have  afforded  the  city  more 
entertainment  than  these  two  days  in  which 
Jerome  Kent  was  found  guilty  of  assault  and 
robbery.  The  dramatic  introduction  of  the 
photograph  would  alone  have  made  material 
for  the  papers,  since  Miss  Wheeler  was  now 
almost  as  well  known  as  her  notorious 
father.  But  the  collapse  of  Northrop  startled 
the  whole  town.  The  Eagle  only,  on  the  fol- 
lowing day,  confined  itself  to  simple  facts, 
much  to  the  disgust  of  the  many  who  bought 
it  to  secure  inside  information.  Overwork, 
under  the  strain  of  the  contest  over  the  gas  bill, 
the  Eagle  said,  had  brought  about  temporary 
mental  aberration  in  Mr.  Northrop.  Mr.  Nor- 
throp was  now  under  the  care  of  physicians  in 
his  house  at  Bass  Avenue,  and,  it  was  hoped, 
would  speedily  recover.  Editorially,  the  Eagle 
commented  on  the  state  of  politics  in  America, 
when  through  general  public  apathy  one  man 
could  be  forced  on  and  on  in  the  effort  to 
overcome,  almost  single-handed,  the  leagued 
forces  of  evil,  until  human  nature  could  no 


266  THE    SECOND   GENERATION 

longer  endure.  There  would  be  no  cessation  in 
the  contest  against  the  Union  Gas  Bill.  The 
Eagle  took  occasion  to  announce  once  more  the 
genuineness  of  the  document  in  its  possession, 
of  which  a  facsimile  had  been  published. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  house  on  Bass  Avenue,  an 
old  man  wrung  his  hands  and  shouted  con- 
stantly, "  He  should  have  burnt  it,  he  should 
have  burnt  it ! "  while  his  daughter  repeated 
as  constantly,  over  and  over  again,  "  It  is 
burnt  now,  papa;  it  is  all  right  now."  Elsie 
was  right  in  saying  she  had  done  all  her  cry- 
ing. She  was  so  self-possessed,  now  when  her 
long  fears  were  really  culminated  in  truth, 
that  finally  the  doctor  even  grudgingly  admit- 
ted she  might  possibly  stay  alone  with  her 
father,  provided  the  male  nurse  remained 
close  outside.  Northrop  showed  no  tendency 
to  struggle,  at  length,  but  was  contented  to  sit 
still  in  an  armchair,  looking  with  vague  eyes 
out  upon  the  grounds,  through  a  locked  win- 
dow. It  was  Elsie  who  guessed  that  he  would 
sleep  if  she  sang,  when  for  thirty-six  hours  his 
eyes  remained  obstinately  open.  Later,  it  was 
Elsie  whose  slow  voice  began  to  have  its 
effect  on  the   disturbed  brain,   so  that   only 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  267 

now  and  then  he  would  demand  doubtfully, 
"  Did  he  burn  it?  "  always  to  meet  the  steady, 
even  answer,  "  Yes,  papa,  it  is  burnt  now." 
So  she  coaxed  him  slowly  back  to  poise  again. 

"  I  cannot  leave  papa,  even  to  come  and  see 
you,  my  brother,"  she  wrote  Jerome  two  days 
after  the  trial.  "  I  cannot  even  write  you 
what  I  should  like,  for  I  have  not  the  words. 
But  you  know,  I  think,  out  of  the  depths  of 
your  sorrow  the  depths  of  my  sympathy  and 
belief.  It  will  come  right,  Jerome,  it  will 
come  right.  If  I  were  not  sure  of  that,  how 
could  I  be  sure  there  was  a  God  at  all  ?  " 

Not  a  word,  in  all  the  long  letter,  told  of  her 
own  devotion,  or  hinted  at  despair.  It  was  a 
letter  that  comforted  a  little  even  Jerome.  A 
week  afterward  he  was  taken  to  the  peniten- 
tiary, and  began  his  service. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  brisk  and  alert  young  man  of  twenty-five 
or  six  stepped  off  the  train  at  Joliet  one  morn- 
ing in  the  following  May.  He  glanced  with 
an  air  of  proprietorship  at  the  buildings  adja- 
cent to  the  station,  looked  at  his  watch,  and 
jumped  into  a  cab.  "  To  the  penitentiary," 
he  said  curtly,  and  lay  back  to  consider  the 
world  while  the  carriage  bumped  over  the  May 
streets  which  characterize  the  ordinary  Illinois 
towns.  He  had  been  married  only  a  month, 
and  he  found  it  difficult  to  be  unhappy,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  he  was  about  to  see  his  closest 
friend,  and  that  his  friend  was  a  convict  of  the 
state  penitentiary.  It  was  "  visiting  day  "  at 
Joliet. 

And  yet,  when  he  actually  had  Jerome  before 
his  eyes  Chambers  found  his  spirits  sinking 
readily  enough.  The  hideous  misshapen  uni- 
form, the  cropped  hair  over  the  broad  forehead, 
the  clumsy  shoes,  blotted  out  the  personality  of 
268 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  269 

his  friend,  and  presented  in  his  stead,  not 
Jerome  Kent,  but  convict  963.  It  was  only 
when  he  looked  at  the  eyes  that  Chambers 
could  shake  off  the  depression  lying  upon 
him. 

"How  are  you,  old  man?"  he  asked  awk- 
wardly enough. 

"  Very  well,  Will,"  Jerome  answered,  in  the 
slow  voice  the  inmate  of  a  penal  institution  so 
quickly  picks  up.  "  How  good  it  is  of  you 
to  come  out  here  and  see  me!" 

"  Nonsense !  "  Chambers  shook  himself,  as 
if  he  were  throwing  off  something  that  hung 
about  him.  "  Now,  Jerry,"  he  went  on, 
"  we've  only  got  half  an  hour,  and  I  think 
the  best  way  is  for  you  to  fire  off  questions  on 
what  you  want  to  know,  and  I'll  answer  'em. 
First,  though ;  I'm  married." 

"Already?" 

Chambers  nodded.  "  Hengle  left  at  last,  a 
month  and  a  half  ago ;  and  they  put  me  in  the 
dramatic  critic  business,  and  jumped  me  to 
forty  a  week.  So  we  put  it  through."  He 
laughed.     "  I  like  it,  Jerry." 

"  I'm  so  glad,  old  man." 

"  Well  —  fire  away." 


270  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  do  that,  Will," 
answered  Kent,  slowly.  "  Won't  you  just 
tell  me  what's  happened  —  if  you'll  be  good 
enough  ?  " 

Chambers  eyed  him  curiously.  Jerome  was 
not  as  depressed  as  he  had  expected,  and  yet 
he  was  more  quiet.  Was  this  self-humiliation, 
this  careful  politeness,  healthy,  Chambers  won- 
dered ?    Aloud  he  went  on,  — 

"  What  do  you  know,  Jerry?  " 

"  Not  a  thing,  Will.  I  haven't  read  a  paper 
or  heard  a  word  from  outside  since  I  —  came 
down." 

Chambers  fairly  jumped.  "What!"  he 
cried,  "  don't  you  know  about  Wheeler,  and 
about  Union  Gas  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Jerome. 

"  The  bill  was  lost,"  said  Chambers.  "  Shall 
I  tell  you  about  it?" 

"  I'd  rather  hear  it  than  anything  else,"  Je- 
rome replied  simply. 

Chambers,  standing  close  to  the  grating, 
shifting  his  position  from  time  to  time,  talked 
hurriedly  and  in  a  low  tone. 

"After  —  you  know,"  he  said,  "when 
Northrop  went  loco,  the  gas  bill  began  to  pick 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  27 1 

up  a  bit.  You  see,  pretty  nearly  all  your 
work  down  at  Springfield  —  well,  Jerry,  when 
that  damnable  jury  put  you  in  here,  the  people 
that  you  know  down  in  Springfield  talked.  I 
even  had  a  row  with  Mary's  father,  by  letter, 
over  it.  He  seemed  to  think  you'd  been  string- 
ing them  all,  him  included.  I  told  him  you 
were  all  right,  but  of  course  I  hadn't  any  evi- 
dence except  your  word,  and  —  well,  he  was  a 
specimen  of  the  lot  of  'em,  and  I'm  thankful 
Mary  takes  more  after  her  mother  in  a  good 
many  things.  Then  Northrop' s  words  in  the 
court  hurt  his  reputation;  and  as  people  had 
got  to  thinking  a  good  deal  that  Union  Gas 
wasn't  so  much  a  question  of  right  against 
wrong,  as  of  Henry  Northrop  against  Chris 
Wheeler,  they  began  to  favour  the  Wheeler  side 
a  little  more.  In  the  end,  everybody  saw  when 
the  bill  came  up  it  was  going  to  be  nip  and 
tuck,  pull  husband,  pull  bear.  Wheeler  was 
spending  big  money,  everybody  knew,  and  be- 
sides, he  was  buying  more  Union  Gas  stock 
on  margins,  and  making  thousands  every  day ; 
for  lots  of  people  shared  his  confidence  in  the 
bill's  passing,  and  Union  Gas  went  on  rising 
slowly  right  along.     You  never  saw  a  man 


272  THE    SECOND   GENERATION 

so  confident  as  Wheeler  was.  Your  trial, 
you  see,  and  Northrop  going  off  the  handle, 
made  him  think  nothing  could  stand  up 
against  him  any  more.  They  say  he  was 
painting  the  town  red  every  night,  too,  but  I 
don't  know  anything  about  that.  They  sent 
me  up  to  his  house  one  night,  and  George,  but 
he  was  big!  He  wanted  me  to  drink  some  of 
his  whiskey,  but  my!  I  couldn't  have  swal- 
lowed any  of  the  old  liar's  best,  if  it  had  been 
seventy-seven  years  old.  *  From  the  Eagle, 
eh  ?  '  he  said.  '  To  hell  with  the  Eagle!  You'll 
find  Chris  Wheeler's  a  little  too  big  for  you, 
young  man ! '  When  I  was  coming  out  I  met 
his  daughter.  She  didn't  see  me  by  a  hundred 
yards,  but  I  saw  her,  and  she's  worth  looking 
at.  Jerry,  she's  a  queen,  though  the  good 
Lord  knows  where  she  gets  it  from." 

"  Go  on,"  interrupted  Jerome. 

"  Oh,  yes  —  well,  for  once  even  Jimmy 
Hanlon  didn't  know  how  a  bill  was  coming 
out.  Of  course,  I  was  interested,  and  Mary 
through  me,  and  what  did  we  hear  all  of  a 
sudden  but  from  Mary's  father  that  he  was 
going  to  vote  for  the  gas  bill!  When  Mary 
told  me  I  swore.     She  wanted  to  know  why, 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  273 

and  I  explained  for  the  dozenth  time  about 
you,  and  Northrop,  and  Wheeler.  She  seemed 
all  cut  up  for  two  or  three  days.  Finally, 
nothing  would  do  but  she  must  go  down  to 
Springfield  and  see  her  father.  She  did;  and 
she  went  alone.  I  couldn't  have  got  off,  but 
she  wouldn't  have  let  me  go  with  her,  anyway. 
She  wouldn't  tell  me  what  she  went  for,  even ; 
but  since  we  were  married  she  did,  and  said  I 
might  tell  you.  Jerry,  do  you  remember  the 
girl  who  committed  suicide  over  on  the  West 
side,  the  night  I  met  Mary, —  the  Jewish 
woman?  And  you  remember  why  she  killed 
herself?  Jerry,  Wheeler  was  the  man,  and 
Mary  knew  it  all  along;  and  that's  what  she 
told  her  father. 

"  Well,  you  know  him.  The  gas  bill  people 
had  offered  him  a  big  thing  —  a  place  for  him- 
self, and  one  for  Frank,  who  gets  out  of  college 
in  a  month.  He  didn't  put  it  that  way,  of 
course,  but  that's  what  it  amounted  to ;  and  he 
is  mighty  hard  up,  and  hates  to  see  his  family 
growing  up  without  knowing  anything.  They 
think  they'll  have  to  take  Tom  out  of  college 
next  year  —  but  they  won't,  unless  the  Eagle 
reduces  my  salary.     Well  —  when  Mary  told 


274  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

the  old  man,  she  cried,  of  course,  and  he  cried 
too ;  but  he  wouldn't  say  he'd  vote  against  the 
bill.  And  in  three  days,  just  before  the  end  of 
the  session,  it  came  up  in  the  House.  Every- 
body knew  the  fight  would  come  there;  the 
Senate  was  a  cinch,  and  the  governor  was 
bought  and  paid  for.  They  called  the  roll, 
and  it  came  on  closer  and  closer,  and  when 
Wilcox's  name  was  called,  he  could  decide  it. 
Well,  I'm  not  proud  of  papa-in-law,  par- 
ticularly, but  he  knew  if  under  the  circum- 
stances he  voted  for  the  bill  his  fortune  was 
made.  Mary  was  down  there,  in  the  galleries, 
and  the  old  man  knew  that  too.  Instead  of 
voting,  he  began  to  explain.  He  rambled 
ahead,  Hanlon  told  me,  and  they  all  thought, 
of  course,  he  was  going  to  vote  for  the  bill 
and  pick  up  the  wad.  God  knows  what  he 
meant  to  do ;  but  my  poor  little  girl,  who  had 
been  sitting  in  a  front  seat  for  five  hours, 
couldn't  stand  it  any  longer;  and  she  began 
to  cry.  The  old  man  looked  up  and  saw  her. 
'  I  vote  No ! '  he  broke  off,  and  sat  down. 
They  say  for  a  minute  you  couldn't  hear  any- 
thing but  Mary  crying,  all  by  herself;  and 
then  —  hell   broke   loose.     They   telegraphed 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  275 

the  news  up  to  Wheeler  over  his  private  wire. 
His  secretary  had  gone  out  for  something 
just  before  the  news  came;  when  he  came 
back,  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  the  old  man  was 
dead  on  the  floor." 

"  Wheeler  dead !  "  Jerome  cried.  Chambers 
nodded. 

"  Apoplexy  again.  When  they  went  to  work 
on  his  affairs,  they  found  out  he'd  left  about 
two  million  dollars  in  special  bequests  to  a  lot 
of  colleges,  and  the  residue  to  his  family  — 
wife  and  daughter.  When  the  bill  was  de- 
feated, Union  Gas  slumped  thirty-five  points  in 
ten  minutes.  What  do  you  think  Wheeler's  es- 
tate will  amount  to,  when  they  settle  for  his 
margins  and  straighten  out  a  lot  of  fussing  in 
mines,  and  such  stuff  —  speculations  he's  been 
handling  the  last  two  or  three  years?  They 
say  in  the  city  that  he  won't  have  fifty  thou- 
sand in  the  world,  and  if  those  colleges  claim 
pro  rata  the  family  will  go  on  the  streets." 

"  Where  are  they  now  ?  "  asked  Jerome. 

"  In  their  house,  waiting  for  it  to  be  sold. 
They  say  it's  a  fearful  shock  to  the  old  woman. 
But  if  she  has  any  sense,  she  won't  fret.  The 
gentleman  that's  gone  is  better  dead,  and  her 


2j6  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

daughter  is  sure  to  marry  money  and  take  care 
of  the  two  of  them.  My,  Jerry,  but  she's  a 
queen! " 

"  The  Northrops  ?  "  asked  Jerome,  hastily. 

"  They  say  the  old  man  is  getting  better. 
His  daughter  takes  care  of  him,  and  he's  doing 
well.  They  say  he  doesn't  know  anything 
about  the  gas  bill,  or  Wheeler's  death,  or  any- 
thing like  that;  they  daren't  tell  him,  and  he 
doesn't  ask.  It's  funny  the  two  of  you  who 
were  so  much  concerned  in  it,  should  be  the 
last  ones  to  know  how  the  whole  thing  came 
out !  "  commented  Chambers.  "  But,  say,  old 
man,  I  haven't  heard  a  word  about  you  yet. 
Can  you  —  stand  it  here?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Kent  said  cheerfully,  "  I  stand 
it  very  well.  They  are  as  good  to  —  us  —  as 
you  could  expect.  I  could  have  seen  the  papers 
if  I'd  wanted,  but  I've  fallen  out  of  the  habit. 
They  let  me  write  letters,  too,  one  a  week,  and 
receive  them.    But  I  haven't  written  any  yet." 

"I've  got  one  here  for  you,"  returned 
Chambers,  "  from  Miss  Northrop.  How  shall 
I  get  it  to  you  ?  " 

"  Give  it  to  the  warden,  please.  It  must 
be  read  first,  you  know." 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  277 

"  Well  —  I  can  tell  them  all  you're  feeling 
pretty  well,  eh  ?  Everybody,  all  the  old  crowd 
wants  to  hear  how  you  are,  and  they  all  send 
their  love,  or  would  have,  if  they  knew  I  was 
coming  down.  I'm  sorry  I  couldn't  come  be- 
fore, Jerry,  old  man,  but  we  can't  get  off  just 
when  we  please,  you  know,  —  and  then  getting 
married  and  all !  "  he  finished. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Jerome,  "  it  was  mighty 
good  of  you  to  come  at  all,  Will !  Yes,  you  can 
tell  them,  if  they  ask,  that  I  am  feeling  pretty 
well."       , 

"  Time's  up,  sir,"  admonished  the  warden. 

"  Good-by,  Jerry,"  said  Chambers,  "  au 
revoir,  old  man,  au  revoir." 

"  Au  revoir,  Will."  And  "  visiting  day" 
for  Jerome  Kent  was  over. 

But  that  night  he  had  his  letter  in  his  cell. 

"Are  things  coming  out  right,  Jerome?  I 
am  sorry  that  I  cannot  see  you,  but  I  think  of 
you  all  the  time.  I  have  a  great  deal  of  time, 
now;  papa  likes  to  have  me  with  him;  he 
doesn't  want  to  talk,  but  he  seems  to  grow  a 
little  restless  if  I  read.  So  I  have  a  great  deal 
of  time  to  think.  Papa  is  growing  very  much 
better,  I  am  sure.    He  is  not  so  thin,  now.    He 


278  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

talks  a  little,  sometimes,  usually  about  the 
things  he  used  to  see  — the  flowers.  He  hardly 
ever  asks  me  if  I  have  burned  the  photograph, 
and  he  does  not  look  about  him  in  that  fright- 
ened way. 

"  Dear  Jerome,  I  was  not  sure  whether  to 
write  that  about  the  photograph;  and  I  am 
not  sure  whether  to  tell  you  this;  I  have  seen 
Ethel  Wheeler  since  her  father  died.  Her 
poor  mother  is  almost  distracted,  they  say,  but 
Miss  Wheeler  seemed  to  be  wonderfully  strong. 
And  Jerome,  if  you  ask  me  how  I  saw  her,  I 
must  tell  you.  I  wrote  to  her  and  asked  her  if 
I  might.  Was  I  so  wrong  ?  I  do  not  think  so. 
I  told  her  all  the  story,  just  as  I  knew  it  from 
you  —  how  you  had  found  the  pocket-book, 
and  how  you  had  kept  the  picture.  I  cannot 
tell  you  what  she  said,  or  what  she  did,  dear 
brother.  But  she  knows,  now,  and  she  be- 
lieves. 

"  Are  you  working  —  writing  ?  or  are  you 
only  thinking  and  growing  wise?  I  do  not 
know  what  they  let  you  do.  But  I  am  sure  you 
are  not  desponding.  We  have  both  had  our 
little  troubles  lately,  haven't  we?  Perhaps 
they  are  big  enough  to  last  all  our  lives  long. 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  279 

But  I  do  not  think  God  sent  them  to  crush  out 
our  lives,  dear  Jerome ;  and  I  still  believe  in  a 
God." 

He  lay  a  long  time  that  night  on  his  nar- 
row iron  bed,  thinking  over  the  letter  and 
Chambers's  news.  He  could  appreciate  the 
loyalty  which  made  the  one  girl  keep  the  other's 
secret.  And  yet  he  wished  that  Elsie  had  told 
him  more  of  what  She  had  said.  She  knew, 
now,  all  of  his  life;  why  he  had  been  opposed 
to  her  father,  and  why  he  had  been,  once,  dis- 
honourable. Was  he  right  in  opposing  her 
father  ?  Was  he  wrong  in  his  dishonour  ?  He 
had  been  bitterly  punished  for  both.  Why  had 
he  been  allowed  to  live  his  quiet,  even  life  so 
long,  and  then  suddenly  thrust  into  the  whirl 
and  turmoil  of  things,  to  spin  about  and  drift, 
at  last,  broken,  down  the  stream  ?  He,  or  fate, 
had  so  brought  it  about  that  all  his  determina- 
tion and  efforts  counted  for  nothing.  He  had 
fought,  and  had  won  nothing.  After  all  his 
toil,  Wheeler's  downfall  was  brought  about  by 
Wheeler's  own  wickedness  and  folly,  and  sud- 
denly accomplished  by  the  weeping  of  a  girl. 
Had  he,  Jerome  Kent,  nothing  to  show  for  his 
life  but  lost  honour  and  a  stained  name  ?    Once, 


280  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

when  he  was  a  child,  he  had  gone  out  picking 
wild  raspberries;  and,  having  fallen,  he  had 
come  home,  at  the  end  of  a  long,  hot  day, 
bruised,  with  torn  clothes,  and  not  even  one 
berry  for  his  labour.  Yet  he  had  meant  well  on 
that  day,  as  on  this.  And  was  he,  as  a  man, 
to  expect  the  comfort  and  petting  that  he  had 
received  then,  for  meaning  well? 

His  thoughts  turned  again.  What  was  She 
doing,  and  what  would  She  do?  Marry  some 
rich  man,  as  Chambers  had  suggested,  and 
bring  herself  back  to  the  station  she  had  stood 
upon  before  her  father  died?  He  could  force 
himself  to  think  of  such  a  thing  calmly,  now, 
when  he  could  no  longer  offer  her  his  stained 
name.  Yet  she  had  worn  gladness  in  her  eyes, 
that  day  when  he  had  seen  her  last.  Had  she 
loved  him  then?  Did  she  love  him  now?  or 
was  he  blotted  out  of  her  thoughts?  It  gave 
him  a  thrill,  even  then,  to  think  that  if  she  for- 
got him  she  must  forget  him  wilfully ;  for  he 
knew  that  she  had  loved  him  once.  He  knew 
that  he  could  not  have  mistaken  that  gladness 
in  her  eyes. 

He  turned  again  to  thinking  —  of  Elsie,  of 
his  sister,  as  she  sat,  day  after  day,  quiet  as  a 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  28l 

statue,  her  hands  folded  in  her  lap,  waiting  for 
her  father's  least  wish,  and  thinking  of  Je- 
rome. Thinking  of  him,  who  wore  the  uni- 
form of  stripes,  walked  in  a  lock-step  to  his 
dinner,  made  chairs  all  day,  and  had  the  close- 
cut  hair  and  the  badge  of  the  convict.  It  was 
something,  at  least,  to  have  made  a  friend  like 
that.  Her  clear,  honest  eyes  looked  at  him  in 
the  darkness  of  his  cell.  The  clock  in  the 
tower  rang  twice.    He  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

He  left  the  prison  quietly,  on  a  December 
day,  lowering,  but  not  cold.  At  his  request  no 
one  came  to  Joliet  to  greet  him. 

"  I  should  rather  see  you  all  again  in  Chi- 
cago, Will,"  he  wrote.  "  I  haven't  much  sen- 
timent over  it  myself;  but  I  think  it  would  be 
pleasanter  if  we  waited  until  the  penitentiary 
was  at  least  out  of  sight."  So  he  came  out 
alone,  in  the  clothes  he  had  worn  the  day  of 
the  trial.  They  hung  a  little  loosely  on  him, 
for  ten  months  of  confinement  had,  in  spite  of 
his  cheerfulness,  told  upon  his  physique.  His 
hair  was  growing  again,  and  besides,  was  cov- 
ered by  his  cap.  Those  who  saw  him  in  the 
train,  even  though  some  of  them  had  noticed 
that  he  got  on  at  Joliet,  thought  probably,  see- 
ing the  prison  pallor  and  the  clothes  too  loose, 
that  he  was  recovering  from  some  illness.  Few 
men  have  carried  away  less  taint  of  the  prison 
in  their  eyes  than  Jerome  Kent. 
282 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  283 

He  leaned  back  in  his  corner  of  the  seat  and 
watched  the  backward-flying  fields,  damp  and 
deserted.  A  woman,  getting  on  at  Broxton, 
came  through  the  car  hesitating;  no  double 
seat  was  free.  At  length  she  sat  down  by  Je- 
rome. She  was  neither  young  nor  pretty,  and 
yet  his  heart  leaped  for  the  first  time  since  he 
had  tasted  freedom.  If  he  was  a  leper,  at  least 
he  did  not  show  it  in  his  face.  He  wondered 
what  the  woman  would  do,  should  he  lean  over 
and  say,  "  Madam,  I  am  a  convict  two  hours 
out  of  prison."  The  train  boy  came  yelling 
down  the  aisle  with  the  Chicago  papers  of  the 
day.  Jerome  stared  out  of  the  window,  but  the 
woman,  fumbling  in  her  purse,  bought  a  paper 
—  the  Eye,  with  flaring  headlines  about  noth- 
ing. One  of  them  caught  Jerome's  eye.  "  No- 
torious Convict  Released  To-day.  Recalls  the 
Wheeler-Northrop  case  of  last  February.  His- 
tory of  the  Crime. "  That  he  should  thus  be 
heralded,  not  allowed  to  slip  quietly  back  into 
the  city,  he  had  not  anticipated,  and  in  the 
sickness  of  the  discovery  he  was  more  than 
ever  glad  that  none  of  his  friends  were  there  to 
share  the  pain. 

Chambers  met  him  at  the  station. 


284  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

"  Hello,  Jerome." 

"  Hello,  Will !  "    They  shook  hands. 

"  Mary  didn't  come  down,"  said  Chambers. 
"  She  thought  maybe  you'd  rather  see  me 
alone  a  minute.  It's  good  to  have  you  back, 
Jerry." 

"  It's  better  to  be  here,  old  man." 

Chambers  led  the  way  out  of  the  station. 
"  I  see  the  cars  are  running  on  the  elevated, 
aren't  they?    I  didn't  know  that." 

"  Four  months,"  agreed  Chambers,  briefly. 

"  Where  are  we  going,  Will?  " 

"  Up  to  my  house,  of  course.  Aren't  you 
even  coming  to  dinner  with  us,  you  beggar? 
Don't  you  remember  once  when  you  doomed 
me  to  live  in  a  boarding  house  all  my  days,  be- 
cause housekeeping  cost  too  much?  I'll  show 
you  a  house  in  a  few  minutes,  and  you'll  be 
sorry  when  you  see  it  you  haven't  taken  Solo- 
mon's advice." 

Jerome  smiled.  "  Do  you  still  insist  it  was 
Solomon  ?    You  are  —  too  good  to  me,  Will." 

"  Hell !  "  replied  Chambers.  "  I've  stopped 
swearing,to  please  Mary,"  he  apologized ;  "  but 
you  would  make  St.  Francis  cuss." 

They  talked  little,   threading  dismal,  busy 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  285 

streets  toward  the  northeast.  At  length  they 
reached  their  car;  after  that  the  journey  was 
easy.  "  Here  we  are !  "  announced  Chambers 
at  length,  when  they  arrived  at  a  cross  street, 
running  into  Lincoln  Park.  "  And  here's  the 
flat,  and  here's  Mary !  " 

There  she  was  indeed,  not  quite  so  frail  ( dis- 
gracefully fat,  Chambers  declared  her  to  be), 
just  as  much  afraid  of  Jerome  as  she  had  been 
the  first  time  they  met,  but  very  glad  to  see 
him.  When  they  had  shaken  hands,  Chambers 
put  an  arm  on  Jerome's  shoulder.  "  Come 
along,  Jerry,"  he  said.  "  I  want  to  show  you 
the  house."  He  led  him  down  a  tiny  hallway. 
"  That  was  the  parlour  you  were  in,"  he  de- 
clared ;  "  that's  Mary's  room  and  mine. 
Here's  the  dining  room  —  plenty  big  enough 
for  eight,  if  they  are  all  good  friends."  He 
threw  open  a  door.  "  And  here,"  he  said,  with 
a  trace  of  excitement  in  his  voice,  "  is  your 
room,  Jerry." 

Kent  looked  around.  His  trunk  was  in  one 
corner,  his  pictures  were  upon  the  wall;  the 
desk  chair  that  had  been  his  father's  stood  be- 
side the  table,  and  his  books  lay  upon  it.  There 
were  papers  scattered  loosely  on  the  blotting- 


286  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

pad,  under  his  lamp.  "  You  stepped  out  for  a 
minute,''  Chambers  cried,  "  but  you've  come 
back  now,  old  boy." 

Jerome  said  nothing.  Chambers  was  disap- 
pointed.   "  Don't  you  like  it,  old  man?  " 

"  Ah,  God,  Will !  I  can  never  make  it  up 
to  you." 

"  It  wasn't  my  idea,  it  was  Mary's."  Cham- 
bers volubly  defended  himself  from  any  charge 
of  kindness.  "  At  least  we  both  thought  we 
shouldn't  care  for  the  flat  so  much  unless  there 
was  a  place  for  you  in  it ;  and  then  Mary  said 
we  ought  to  keep  the  room  ready  so  that  you 
could  come  in  at  any  time;  so  of  course  we 
did.  And  now  let's  go  out  to  dinner.  It's  all 
right,  Marykins,"  he  cried  when  he  saw  his 
wife,  "  he  likes  it." 

They,  Chambers  and  his  wife  —  did  all  the 
talking  at  dinner;  perhaps  it  was  the  young 
reporter  alone  who  did  it  all.  He  conveyed 
the  news  in  spurts,  interspersed  with  praises 
of  his  wife's  housewifery;  of  their  maid,  un- 
doubtedly the  best  in  the  city;  of  the  small 
woolly  black-and-white  pup  which  rolled  in  an 
imbecile  fashion  about  the  floor,  and  which 
Chambers  declared  undoubtedly  of  pure-bred 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  287 

Anglo-Saxon  mastiff  blood ;  of  their  wedding 
gifts  —  "  one  due  from  you,  my  boy,  and  don't 
you  believe  we'll  let  you  off;  we've  got  our  eye 
on  a  neat  little  thing  in  mahogany  pianos  that's 
just  what  the  flat  needs,"  —  and  finally  on 
the  flat  itself,  which  in  spite  of  the  patent  fact 
that  there  were  seven  others  in  the  same  build- 
ing of  precisely  the  same  size,  shape,  and  finish, 
was  declared  by  its  owner,  without  fear  of 
contradiction,  to  be  the  most  convenient,  com- 
fortable, complete,  and  altogether  beautiful  set 
of  apartments  in  the  city  of  Chicago.  "  Too 
big  for  two,  just  big  enough  for  three,  and  a 
Paradise  for  four," .  he  finished,  whereat  his 
little  wife  blushed  deeply. 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,  Jerry,"  he  said,  in  one  of 
the  infrequent  moments  when  he  could  get 
away  from  talk  upon  their  belongings  —  "  did 
you  know  they  say  old  Wheeler's  daughter  is 
engaged  to  —  whom  do  you  think  ?  Old  man 
Cahill's  youngest,  Billy  Cahill.  You  know 
Billy  Cahill?  He  had  a  cocktail  named  for 
him  when  he  was  nineteen,  but  I  think  he's 
steadied  since,  and  they  say  he's  the  flower  of 
the  flock  now.  It's  funny  when  you  come  to 
think  of  it,  for  when  Wheeler  was  alive  Ca- 


288  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

hill  would  go  round  the  block  to  knock  on  him, 
they  said.  You  know  they  were  in  the  Union 
Savings  together  for  a  long  while,  but  Wheeler 
pulled  out  a  year  before  he  died.  I  reckon  it's 
a  good  thing  for  the  bank  he  did.  Well,  Cahill 
has  money  to  burn,  of  course,  and  Billy  I  guess 
can  still  get  up  in  the  morning  and  light  the 
fire;  so  the  Wheelers  are  provided  for.  But 
the  engagement  knocks  out  the  last  chance  of 
those  colleges  getting  the  fifty  thousand  pro 
rata.  Old  man  Cahill  has  millions ;  but  he  can 
see  a  dollar  at  a  hundred  yards,  and  he  won't 
let  fifty  thousand  lie  out  in  the  rain  until  it 
gets  rusty." 

"  When  is  she  to  be  married  ?  "  asked  Je- 
rome. 

Chambers  shook  his  head.  "  Do  you  know, 
Jerry,  Billy  didn't  tell  me  the  last  time  I  dined 
there !  "  he  remarked  humorously.  "  But  I 
reckon  all  they're  waiting  for  is  the  year  to 
be  up  since  the  old  man  went  to  be  boss  in  —  " 

"  Will !  "  cried  his  wife. 

"  Calvary,"  finished  Will. 

So  it  was  all  over,  thought  Jerome.  She 
was  engaged  to  be  married.  He  took  it  very 
quietly.     One  does  not  know  how  to  express 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  289 

the  change  in  his  feelings  toward  her,  as  the 
days  slipped  by,  except  in  one  way  —  by  writ- 
ing the  pronoun  without  the  capital.  In  prison 
he  had  realized  they  two  could  never  marry; 
and  he  wondered  if  he  had  really  ever,  even 
before  that,  had  any  hope  that  he  might  call 
her  his  before  all  the  world.  As  he  looked 
back,  he  did  not  believe  that  he  had.  He  had 
dreamed  at  whiles ;  perhaps  that  was  all.  Even 
the  dreams  had  faded  when  fate  drove  him  to 
his  ruin.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to  think 
what  sort  of  a  man  this  Cahill  was,  whom  she 
was  to  marry ;  but  he  wished  her,  in  his  heart, 
happiness  in  her  life.  Not  much  of  late  had 
been  hers,  he  knew,  and  he  wondered  whether 
when  she  met  the  man  to  whom  she  was  en- 
gaged, she  wore  gladness  in  her  eyes. 

He  went  to  see  Elsie  the  next  day,  as  she 
had  insisted  that  he  should  do,  and  when  he 
would  have  shaken  hands,  she  kissed  him. 
"  Welcome  back,  Jerome/'  she  said.  Her  voice 
was  more  cheerful  and  her  eyes  were  brighter, 
he  thought,  than  he  had  ever  seen  them;  and 
there  was  colour  in  her  cheeks.  She  was  no 
more  marble,  but  a  girl  who  was  alive.  "  You 
are  to  come  directly  up  and  see  papa,"  she  told 
u 


29O  THE    SECOND   GENERATION 

him.  "  He  has  been  so  impatient  for  the  last 
few  days  that  if  I  keep  you  here  one  single 
minute  he  will  be  running  down."  So  she 
took  him  up  to  Northrop's  sitting  room. 

"He  is  quite  well  now?"  Jerome  asked  in 
the  hallway. 

"  Quite,  quite  well.  He  never  will  be  very 
strong,  but  then  he  never  was.  He  has  re- 
tired from  the  Eagle,  you  know.  He  talks  of 
going  back  to  the  country  and  starting  a  weekly 
there,  but  he  never  will.  Mamma  cries  at  the 
mere  mention  of  it!  "  she  laughed. 

Northrop  held  his  hand  a  long  time.  He 
rose  from  his  chair  from  the  window,  which 
was  no  longer  locked;  but  Jerome  made  him 
sit  down  again.  Northrop  was  thin,  of  course, 
but  not  with  the  skeleton-like  deathly  frailty 
that  he  had  showed  a  year  ago.  His  blue  eyes 
under  the  blue-veined  lids  and  the  white  hair 
were  clear  and  straightforward,  not  shifting 
about  the  room.  As  his  daughter  said,  he  was 
quite  well.  Indeed,  of  the  two  Jerome  was  the 
paler.  Jerome  no  longer  wore  the  suit  in  which 
he  had  gone  to  prison,  but  these  clothes,  like 
the  others,  fitted  him  loosely,  showing  how 
much  he  had  lost  in  weight. 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  20,1 

"  Life  begins  now  in  earnest  for  me,"  Nor- 
throp said  at  last.  "  It  is  worth  while  to  work 
in  the  sun,  when  the  twilight  is  like  this.  Do 
you  know  of  any  one  who  desires  a  first-class 
certificated  nurse,  my  boy?  Mine  is  out  of  a 
situation  now,  but  I  will  give  her  the  highest 
recommendations."     He  glanced  at  Elsie. 

"  I  shall  not  leave,"  she  answered,  "  until  I 
get  my  wages." 

"  You  see,"  Northrop  complained,  "  I  can- 
not get  rid  of  her,  for  she  knows  I  can't  pay 
her." 

He  spoke  of  Wheeler's  death  without  hesita- 
tion. "  He  was  a  strong  man  —  a  terribly 
strong  man,"  he  said.  "  I  never  could  have 
beaten  him ;  he  had  to  beat  himself.  While  I 
have  been  sitting  here  in  the  past  year,  I  have 
wondered  sometimes  whether  I  did  him  justice ; 
whether  I  really  cared  so  much  about  the  city, 
or  if  a  great  deal  of  my  feeling  was  only  simple 
hate.  I  am  afraid  a  great  deal  of  it  was,  and 
that  I  showed  it  plainly.  There  is  no  more  of 
it  left  in  me  now.  I  wish,  before  he  died,  we 
might  have  shaken  hands.  His  will  was  very 
touching,  they  say.  He  made  it  a  kind  of 
declaration  of  principles.    It  was  so  confident 


292  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

and  bold  and  direct  —  and  then  everything  had 
crumbled ! " 

He  changed  the  subject.  "  Do  you  know," 
he  went  on,  "  that  my  wife  has  come  round 
about  the  hawthorn?  She  has  let  me  plant  it 
even  in  the  grounds  here;  and  next  summer  I 
can  see  it  from  this  window.  Ah,  when  your 
family  believe  you  ill,  my  boy,  they  put  a  ter- 
rible club  in  your  hands,  a  terrible  club ! " 

"  He  does  not  know,"  Elsie  told  Jerome  af- 
terward, "  what  happened  at  the  trial.  He 
does  not  remember  the  trial  at  all,  and  has  no 
idea  he  was  there.  He  knows  that  he  was  — 
ill  —  but  he  thinks  he  was  taken  ill  earlier." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that." 

When  they  had  talked  for  a  while  of  little 
things,  came  a  pause  —  the  pause  they  had 
both  been  fearing.     Jerome  ended  it. 

"  Do  you  ever  see  —  her,  Elsie?  " 

She  nodded.  "  But  very  seldom.  I  go  out 
so  little,  and  so  does  she.  But  now  and  then  I 
meet  her." 

"  Is  she  happy  ?  " 

"Happy?" 

"  In  her  engagement  ?  "  Elsie  looked  her 
surprise,  and  he  went  on  hurriedly.     "  Will  — 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  293 

Mr.  Chambers  —  told  me  of  it.  It  was  a  bit 
soon,  Elsie."  A  trace  of  bitterness  showed 
in  his  voice. 

"  But  is  it  true  ?  "  she  questioned.  "  You  are 
sure  it  is  true  ?  " 

Up  to  the  moment  no  doubt  had  come  into 
his  mind.  He  had  accepted  the  situation,  sor- 
rowfully, but  once  and  for  all.  Now  the  doubt 
came  suddenly,  powerfully,  with  a  strange  and 
disquieting  pleasure.  Then  he  shook  his 
head. 

"  So  Will  says." 

But  Elsie  was  unconvinced.  "  I  have 
heard  the  talk,"  she  answered  slowly,  "  and  — 
yes,  I  have  thought  it  might  be  so.  But 
shouldn't  you  wait  for  the  announcement  be- 
fore you  let  yourself  believe  ?  " 

Again  the  sweetness  of  the  doubt  enveloped 
him;  and  again  the  reaction  followed.  Was 
the  old  battle  to  be  fought  again,  with  his  des- 
tiny—  the  inevitable  surrender  bitterly  to  be 
remade?  He  and  Ethel  Wheeler  were  thrust 
apart.  This  he  knew ;  the  sorrow  and  the  first 
sharp  shock  of  pain  were  past.  Behold,  they 
leaped  to  life  again  at  the  first  faint  sound  of 
a  call. 


294  THE    SECOND   GENERATION 

"  I  suppose  it  is  true.  And  even  if  it  is 
not  —  " 

"Even  then?" 

He  took  Elsie's  hand  and  spoke,  holding  it, 
as  if  the  warm  touch  strengthened  him.  "  Does 
it  seem  to  you  disloyalty,  if  I  will  not  put  that 
'  even  then '  to  myself  ?  Oh,  Elsie,  I  have  been 
trying  so  long  to  bear  this  shock;  and  when 
it  came,  and  I  found  that  I  could  bear  it ;  that 
perhaps  my  life  was  not  all  ended  yet;  that 
somewhere  remained  a  place  for  me,  and  a 
work,  and  even  a  forgetfulness  —  when  I 
found  that,  Elsie,  I  was  really  happy.  Must  I 
give  that  up,  too,  now?    Is  my  life  ended?  " 

She  listened,  understanding,  a  great  eager- 
ness in  her  eyes. 

"Ended?    It  is  just  begun." 

But  he  followed  on  his  own  thoughts. 
"  Then  when  you  suggest,  even  ever  so  faintly, 
that  she  is  not  bound;  that  she  is  waiting;  do 
you  know  what  comes  in  my  heart?  All  my 
dead  hopes  are  alive  again;  all  my  struggles 
for  resignation  are  to  be  gone  through  with 
once  more.  Is  my  life  worth  living,  so?  I 
cannot  have  what  I  desire.  I  gave  it  up;  I 
tried  to  kill  my  longing.     Must  I  be  forever 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  295 

giving  it  up  and  wanting  it  again?  Must  I 
beat  myself  forever  against  this  same  wall? 
Am  I  never  to  leave  prison  ?  "  He  still  held 
her  hand,  but  he  had  forgotten  he  was  speak- 
ing to  her,  and  was  living  over  alone  in  his 
thoughts  the  long  nights  of  his  cell.  "  Oh, 
Elsie,  tell  me  —  am  I  to  dare  to  hope  ?  " 

"  Are  you  afraid  to  have  me  speak  openly, 
Jerome?"  Elsie's  voice  had  lost  the  bright- 
ness, and  came  calm,  evenly  modulated,  as  she 
had  used  to  speak  when  he  first  knew  her.  The 
hand  he  held  fluttered  a  little,  but  was  not  with- 
drawn. 

"  Go  on,  please,"  he  asked  her. 

"  Have  you  fought  it  out  with  yourself, 
then,  so  often?"  she  questioned.  "Have  you 
wondered  if  you  could  bury  the  past ;  if  you 
and  she  could  remember  —  and  forget  ?  Have 
you  done  this  ?  " 

He  nodded,  watching  her  straightforward 
eyes. 

"  And  then  —  what  have  you  decided  ?  " 

"  As  you  know,"  he  answered  heavily. 

"  Oh,"  she  broke  out,  "  it  is  bitter,  it  is  cruel, 
to  torment  you,  to  torment  us  both,  on  this  day 
when  we  should  be  happy.     But  what  can  I 


296  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

do?  I  know  you  are  hoping  now;  I  know 
you  are  wondering  if  I,  too,  and  the  world,  and 
she,  think  as  you  do.  What  can  I  do?  What 
can  I  say?  I  must  be  honest,  dear,  dear 
Jerome,  —  "  and  then  she  stopped.  "  I  think 
—  I  think  you  ought  to  forget  about  her, 
Jerome.', 

His  clasp  on  her  hands  tightened  till  her 
fingers  paled,  and  then  he  loosed  her. 

"  Thank  you,  Elsie,"  he  said.  "  You  are  a 
good  friend  to  me." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  curious, 
strained  look  in  her  clear  eyes.  "  Yes,  Jerome, 
I  think  I  am." 

When  he  had  left  her  she  went  up  to  her 
room  and  stared  into  her  glass.  At  length 
she  was  satisfied.  "  No,  he  did  not  know," 
she  thought.  She  had  dealt  honestly  with  him. 
Suppose  he  had  guessed  what  her  honesty  cost  ? 
Suppose  he  knew  that  she  —  that  she  — 
suppose  he  wondered  if  anything  lay  behind 
her  honesty  beside  friendship?  Suppose  he 
fancied  she  had  spoken  as  she  did,  intimated 
that  his  dead  hopes  might  not  be  raised  again, 
because  —  she  wanted  him  for  herself  ?  She 
shuddered.    The  fear  that  he  would  fancy  that 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  297 

had  been  a  knife  in  her  heart.  Almost  she  had 
betrayed  her  friendship,  let  him  cherish  his 
false  hopes  again,  just  to  save  her  own  self 
from  that  fear.  But  she  had  been  true.  She 
had  been  a  good  friend  to  him.  He  was  hu- 
mility itself,  and  would  never  guess;  she  was 
calmness  itself,  and  he  would  never  guess. 
"  No,"  she  whispered  pitifully,  "  he  will  never 
know."  And  she  tried  to  smile  at  the  face  that 
had  been  so  calm.  Then  she  went  once  more  to 
her  father. 

Jerome  began  work  on  the  following  day. 
Northrop's  influence  secured  him  a  position  as 
an  agent  for  an  Eastern  periodical,  in  which 
his  ability  to  read  and  criticise  and  estimate 
served  him  in  good  stead,  and  which  still  gave 
him  time  for  his  own  work.  The  old  man 
told  him  about  the  place  hesitatingly.  "  It's 
hardly  what  I  should  like  to  get  you,  my  boy ; 
but  —  a  little  later  —  Meanwhile  this  will 
serve."  Jerome  accepted  it  as  simply  as  it  was 
offered. 

One  of  the  first  things  he  did  was  to  write  a 
note  to  Judge  Hetheridge,  asking  permission  to 
call.  "  Certainly,"  Hetheridge  answered.  And 
when  Jerome  had  been  in  Chicago  about  a 


298  THE    SECOND   GENERATION 

week,  he  went  over  one  evening  and  told  the 
Judge  his  story. 

"  I  was  punished  for  what  I  did,  and  I  do 
not  complain/'  he  said,  "  but  I  should  like  you 
to  know  exactly  my  crime." 

Hetheridge  shook  hands  when  he  went  away. 
"  I  hope  you  will  come  again,"  he  said  heartily. 
"  I  believe  every  word  you  say.  Come  again, 
my  boy,  come  again,  but  don't  come  in  —  "  the 
old  joke,  his  favourite  among  them  all,  died 
upon  his  lips.    But  Jerome  smiled. 

"  No,  Judge  Hetheridge,"  he  answered,  "  I 
won't  come  any  more  —  in  business  hours." 

The  days  went  on.  He  spent  Christmas  with 
the  Chambers's  and  New  Year's  Day  with  the 
Northrops.  He  was  busy,  —  busy  with  his 
work,  busy  with  his  book,  which  he  took  up 
again,  laughed  to  see  how  crude  it  was,  tossed 
aside,  picked  up  again,  —  and  was  lost. 
Mother-love,  they  say !  If  one  desires  a  symbol 
of  affection,  why  not  take  the  love  of  the  young 
writer  for  his  first  book?  He  was  astounded 
first,  then  glad,  to  see  how  small  an  impression 
his  life  had  made  upon  the  tremendous  city. 
Daily  contact  with  men  was  nothing  like  so 
difficult  and  unpleasant  as  he  had  feared.  They 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  299 

might  talk,  occasionally,  behind  his  back;  but 
few  seemed  to  know,  fewer  still  to  care,  that 
he  had  been  a  convict.  When  his  book  was 
published,  it  came  out  under  an  assumed  name 
—  John  Scannell  —  for  he  desired  to  avoid  the 
public  recall  of  his  imprisonment.  When  the 
first  copies  came  into  his  hands,  he  took  one  to 
Northrop.  The  old  man  complimented  him 
pleasantly.  Elsie  was  happy ;  Chambers  wildly 
enthusiastic.  Yet  Jerome  felt  something  lack- 
ing in  his  heart  —  not  from  them,  but  in  his 
own  feelings.  He  waited  some  days;  and 
then,  yielding  at  last  to  his  impulse,  he  sealed 
up  a  copy  himself,  addressed  it,  sent  it  away. 
And  in  a  few  days  more  there  came  an  answer. 

The  handwriting  he  knew  at  once,  though 
only  one  line  of  it  he  had  ever  seen.  He  read 
the  little  note. 

"  Thank  you.  I  remember  that  I  knew  the 
book  when  few  did,  and  I  am  proud.  I  am 
sure  that  it  is  the  beginning  of  a  career.',  That 
was  all.     Nor  was  the  letter  signed. 

Jerome  knew  all  that  was  to  be  known  of 
Ethel  Wheeler.  She  lived  quietly  with  her 
mother ;  they  seldom  went  out.  The  wreck  of 
the  old  colossal  fortune,  so  little  that  even  the 


300  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

colleges  had  no  heart  to  snatch  it,  was  enough 
for  the  two  women.  The  rumoured  engage- 
ment to  Cahill  was  long  since  denied;  others 
had  sprung  up  and  been  denied  in  turn.  Ethel 
Wheeler  was  still  Ethel  Wheeler.  And  so  he 
wrote  to  her,  at  length,  and  begged  that  he 
might  call.  She  answered  at  once.  She  should 
be  very  glad  to  see  him. 

A  trifle  of  the  old  constraint  with  which  they 
had  first  met,  lay  upon  them  now.  He  had 
been  thinking  of  her  for  three  years,  without  a 
sight  of  her  face.  Wlien  he  saw  it  he  knew 
that  his  memory  had  not  played  him  false.  She 
was  quieter ;  her  eyes  danced  less ;  but  the  old 
strong  firm  curves  were  there,  the  sunshiny 
hair  was  unsubdued  as  ever,  the  sweetness 
and  the  beauty  were  the  same.  Looking  at 
her,  his  first  thought  was  of  wonderment  and 
humility. 

They  talked  of  his  book,  and  of  his  plans. 
They  were  alone,  for  her  mother  had  angrily 
declined  to  come  down.  They  broke  off  into 
little  pauses,  which  they  hastened  to  fill  up.  He 
could  not  say  what  he  wished ;  indeed,  he  did 
not  know  what  he  wished  to  say.  And  pres- 
ently it  was  time  for  him  to  go. 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  3OI 

"  When  may  I  come  again  ?  "  he  asked  her 
awkwardly.  He  was  standing;  his  shoulders 
had  broadened  out  again,  and  his  strong  figure 
seemed  oddly  unauthorlike.  She  looked  at  him 
without  rising. 

"  Do  you  think,  Mr.  Kent,  that  you  had  bet- 
ter come  again  ?  " 

He  caught  his  breath ;  the  waters  which  had 
rolled  back,  came  flooding  over  him  once  more. 
He  looked  at  her  stupidly.    Then  she  rose. 

"  Do  you  think,"  she  continued,  "  it  is  easy 
for  me  to  say  that  ?  Do  you  think  I  should  not 
like  you  for  a  friend  ?  That  I  have  forgotten 
we  were  friends  once  ?  No ;  we  have  not  for- 
gotten.    So  —  that  is  why,  Mr.  Kent." 

The  revulsion  left  him  weak  as  water.  He 
put  his  hand  upon  a  chair.  Suddenly,  as  they 
had  done  before,  his  dead  hopes,  his  old  long- 
ings, rose  and  marched  before  his  eyes.  He 
willed  them  away,  but  they  would  not  go.  He 
looked,  and  he  knew  that  they  had  never  been 
dead.  They  had  deceived  him  so  long,  but  it 
was  all  deception.  His  resignation  was  gone 
to  the  winds.  His  knowledge  of  the  world, 
his  resolution,  his  command  of  self,  —  where 
were  they  ?    One  thing  he  knew  —  he  loved,  as 


302  THE    SECOND    GENERATION 

he  had  loved  before,  and  would  still  continue 
to  love,  this  girl,  this  jewel  of  the  days.  She 
had  loved  him  once;  did  she  love  him  still? 
She  must,  she  should,  she  did ! 

"  Oh,  Ethel,  Ethel,  Ethel !  "  His  heart  was 
in  the  name. 

"  Hush,  hush !  "  she  answered.  The  curves 
of  her  face  set.  She  grew  older  before  his  eyes. 
"  Oh,  hush,  please,  please !  " 

But  he  would  not  be  stopped,  as  years  before 
he  had  refused  to  be.  He  told  her,  in  a  torrent, 
of  his  thoughts,  his  longings,  and  his  love ;  his 
resignation,  and  his  hopes,  and  then  his  love 
again.  He  came  back  to  that  always,  clung  to 
it,  would  not  think  of  anything  but  that,  nor 
have  her  think  of  anything,  but  meant  to  sweep 
her  away.  She  listened,  with  her  eyes  down, 
bending  a  little  forward,  until  he  paused. 
Then  she  said,  — 

"  And  my  mother,  Mr.  Kent?  " 

It  was  as  if  she  had  whispered  "  Listen ! " 
They  stood  looking  at  one  another.  The  glow 
was  still  upon  his  face,  his  eyes  still  flashed, 
his  shoulders  squared,  and  as  if  that  mother 
had  heard,  her  voice,  shrill,  nervous,  tired, 
came  down  the  staircase. 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  303 

"Ethel!" 

"  Yes,  mother." 

"  I  want  you." 

"  Yes,  mother.  In  just  a  moment."  She 
turned  to  Jerome  and  flung  out  her  hands. 
"  Don't  you  see  ?  Oh,  don't  you  see  ?  It  is 
not  only  she  who  stands  between  us ;  it  is  my 
father,  and  my  past.  We  cannot  remember  a 
little  and  forget  the  rest.  We  cannot  be  chil- 
dren any  more,  and  just  pretend.  Oh ! "  she 
went  on,  "  I  have  prayed,  sometimes,  Mr. 
Kent,  that  this  might  never  happen,  and  then 
I  have  wondered  if  perhaps  it  were  not  better 
to  have  it  happen  after  all.  I  have  wanted  to 
lell  you  that  I  am  proud  of  you;  that  I  have 
always  been  proud  of  you;  that  I  believe  in 
you.  You  have  your  life  to  live,  and  your 
work  to  do.  Once  —  I  will  tell  you  —  I  fan- 
cied I  might  perhaps  share  them  with  you, 
help  you  a  little,  maybe.  But  that  is  over.  Go 
to  your  work ;  succeed,  succeed !  I  know  you 
will.  I  shall  not  tell  you  to  forget  me,  and  I 
shall  not  forget  you.  I  am  your  friend.  But 
you  must  not  see  me.  It  is  a  puzzle.  God 
knows  why  He  gave  it  to  us.  I  may  have 
solved  it  all  wrong.    But  this  is  my  answer  to 


304  THE   SECOND   GENERATION 

it.     I  am  my  mother's  daughter  —  and  my 
father's." 

"  Ethel !  "  came  the  voice  again. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said  hurriedly. 

"  Good-by,"  he  answered,  not  dully  now, 
but  with  his  head  up,  and  his  shoulders  firm 
again.  The  old  humility  was  upon  him,  with 
the  old  heart-ache.  Heart-ache!  who  was  he 
in  the  presence  of  this  magnificent  girl,  so  sure, 
so  strong,  so  fine?  At  the  least,  if  it  was  hard 
for  him,  he  could  make  it  easier  for  her. 
"  Good-by,' '  he  answered.  "  I  can  under- 
stand." He  went  away.  And  when  he  had 
closed  the  door,  she  sat  down,  as  one  who  could 
not  trust  herself  to  stand,  and  the  tears  filled' 
her  eyes,  and  she  bowed  her  head  upon  her 
arms  —  she,  who  had  been  made  for  gladness 
and  for  joy. 

"  Ethel !  "  called  her  mother,  querulously, 
for  the  third  time. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  she  answered,  moving  up. 

"  I  saw  —  Miss  Wheeler  to-day,"  Jerome 
told  Elsie  that  evening.  She  looked  at  him, 
waiting.  But  he  stared  silently  into  the  fire, 
thinking  better  of  his  impulse.    She  rose,  an4 


THE   SECOND   GENERATION  305 

going  to  the  piano,  began  to  sing  softly.  At 
length  she  ceased. 

"  I  must  go  up  to  my  work,"  he  said  ab- 
ruptly. 

"  Is  the  new  story  getting  on?  " 

"The  new  one?  Yes;  yes."  He  laughed 
cynically.  "  And  the  old  one  —  is  finished. 
Good  night,  Elsie." 

She  was  more  than  vaguely  troubled,  and 
she  strove  to  detain  him.  "  What  shall  you 
call  it,  Jerome?  " 

He  looked  down  at  her,  and  saw  the  pity  in 
her  face,  and  the  momentary  cynicism  was  rent 
from  him  with  a  cry. 

"  The  sins  of  the  fathers,  Elsie,  the  sins  of 
the  fathers ! "  The  heroism  was  quite  gone 
out  of  him;  he  was  only  a  boy  whose  heart 
was  broken,  and  he  dropped  upon  his  knees  be- 
side her  and  buried  his  head  in  her  lap;  and 
she  smoothed  his  hair. 


NEW   FICTION 

THE  BENEFACTRESS 

By  the  Author  of  "Elizabeth  and  her  German  Garden," 
"The  Solitary  Summer,"  etc. 

Cloth.     l2mo.     $i.50 

A  new  novel  by  this  charming  writer,  who  so  cleverly  kept  the  secret 
of  her  personality,  is  sure  to  be  widely  enjoyed  by  those  who  read  the 
entertaining  chronicles  already  issued  of  her  garden  by  the  Baltic,  of  the 
three  quaint  April,  May,  and  June  Babies,  of  the  Man  of  Wrath,  and 
of  Elizabeth's  own  original  ideas. 

The  Benefactress  is  a  young  Englishwoman  who  has  a  fortune  left 
her  by  a  German  relative.  She  takes  up  her  property  in  Germany  and 
lives  there.  The  story  of  her  life  in  the  German  village  is  told  with 
unfailing  humor,  as  might  have  been  expected  of  the  woman  who  found 
such  a  fund  of  delicious  entertainment  in  what  would  have  been  to  most 
an  exile  of  the  extremest  dulness. 


THE  REAL  WORLD 

By   ROBERT  HERRICK 

Author  of  u  The  Gospel  of  Freedom"  "The  Web  of  Life"  etc. 

Cloth.     f2mo.     $t.50 

The  chief  woman  in  this  new  novel  by  Mr.  Herrick  is  the  daughter 
of  an  Ohio  manufacturer,  and  the  plot  is  developed  through  the  story 
of  a  young  man's  life.  The  underlying  idea  is  eternally  old:  that  the 
world  does  not  exist  until  created  afresh  for  each  person.  The  way  the 
hero  makes  his  own  world  forms  the  pith  of  the  story,  the  scene  of  which 
moves  back  and  forth  between  the  East  and  the  West. 


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NEW  CANTERBURY  TALES 

By  MAURICE  HEWLETT 

Author  of  " Richard  Yea-and-Nay,"  " The  Forest  Lovers" 
"Little  Novels  of  Italy"  etc. 

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"  Each  strikes  a  different  note,  but  each  is  faithful  to  the  taste  of  his 
time,  which  means  a  stout  belief  in  the  Saints,  and  perhaps  as  genuine  a 
fear  of  '  Old  Legion,'  a  delight  in  chivalrous  deeds,  in  mundane  pomp  and 
might.  And  behind  them  is  the  author's  genius  for  the  creation  of  char- 
acter and  drama,  so  that  these  Old  World  fancies,  full  of  the  glamour  of 
ancient  legend,  in  some  cases  all  compact  of  a  curious,  mediaeval  quaint  - 
ness,  seem  somehow  extraordinarily  human  and  true." 

—  New  York  Tribune. 

"  With  each  successive  volume  there  is  added  proof,  if  such  proof  were 
needed,  that  for  real  fineness  of  touch  and  true  artistic  instinct  Mr.  Hew- 
lett stands  quite  by  himself  in  his  country  and  generation." 

—  The  Commercial  Advertiser,  New  York. 


THE  NEW  AMERICANS 

By  ALFRED  HODDER 

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It  has  been  said  in  derogation  of  the  realism  of  Balzac  that  all  his 
dramatis  persona?  are  people  of  genius,  are  at  least  far  above  the  average 
in  energy  and  intelligence.  The  same  criticism  may  be  brought  against 
the  dramatis  personae  of  this  novel.  The  justification  lies  in  the  fact  that 
the  book  deals  with  the  new  generation  in  the  new  America;  with  their 
energy,  their  confidence,  their  audacity,  their  gayety  and  intelligence,  their 
sheer  determination  "to  have  their  fling,"  their  sense  that  they  are  the 
children  of  a  nation  rising  in  power.  The  plot  turns  on  the  conflict 
between  the  purposes  and  ideals  of  the  old  generation  and  of  the  new, 
on  the  conflict  between  the  purposes  and  ideals  of  the  women  of  the  new 
generation  and  of  the  men,  on  the  hard  unsentimentality  which  for  the 
present  distinguishes  both  the  men  and  women  of  the  new.  The  hero  and 
the  heroine  are  a  Benedick  and  a  Beatrice,  in  that  they  both  "made  light 
of  love";  a  Benedick  and  Beatrice  who  have  made  light  of  it  too  long 
and  have  been  taken  in  its  snare  too  late  for  the  course  of  true  love  to 
run  smooth. 

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MARIETTA 

A    MAID    OF    VENICE 

By  F.  MARION  CRAWFORD 

Author  of  "In  the  Palace  of  the  King"  "  Via  Cruets," 
" Saracinesca,"  etc. 

Cloth.     t2mo.     $1.50 

The  story  deals  with  a  romantic  episode  that  is  historically  true,  being 
taken  from  one  of  the  old  Venetian  chronicles  of  the  latter  part  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  during  the  development  of  the  greatest  splendor  of  the 
Queen  of  the  Adriatic. 

The  action  and  interest  centre  in  the  household  of  a  master  glass- 
blower,  a  member  of  one  of  the  most  powerful  Venetian  trade  corpora- 
tions which  had  many  rights  and  curious  privileges,  and  are  picturesquely 
brought  out. 

But  aside  from  its  power  as  a  story  and  its  vivid  picture  of  domestic 
life  in  the  Middle  Ages,  the  book  shares  the  peculiar  charm  of  "  Marzio's 
Crucifix,"  "  A  Roman  Singer,"  and  other  of  Mr.  Crawford's  descriptions 
of  artists  and  their  surroundings,  which  have  always  been  singularly  fortu- 
nate, possibly  because  of  special  sympathies  dating  from  his  boyhood  in 
Rome,  where  his  father  was  the  well-known  sculptor,  Thomas  Crawford. 


A  Friend  with  the  Countersign 

By  B.  K.  BENSON 

Author  of  "Who  Goes  There  t"  etc. 

Cloth.     i2mo.     $f.50 

Those  who  have  read  "  the  best  spy  story  of  the  civil  war  "  —  described 
by  the  Boston  Herald  as :  "  Quite  the  most  extraordinary  and  retnarkable 
of  recent  stories  of  personal  adventure  in  warfare  ...  a  story  of  such 
vividness  and  power  that  once  you  have  gotten  immersed  in  it,  you  want 
to  shut  out  the  rest  of  the  world  completely  until  you  have  finished  it," 
will  not  be  surprised  to  find  in  the  new  novel  —  a  story  of  desperate  per- 
sonal adventure,  political  plot  and  counterplot,  villany,  and  of  a  devoted 
woman's  love,  all  interwoven  with  the  Virginia  campaigns  of  Grant  and 
Lee,  and  detailed  with  rare  historical  accuracy. 


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CALUMET  "K 


f? 


By  MERWIN-WEBSTER 

Authors  of  "The  Short  Line  War"  "The  Banker  and  the  Bear"  etc. 

Illustrated.     Cloth.     l2mo.    $i.50 

Calumet  "K"  is  a  two-million-bushel  grain  elevator,  and  this  story 
tells  how  Charlie  Bannon  built  it  "  against  time."  The  elevator  must  be 
done  by  December  31.  There  are  persons  that  are  interested  in  delaying 
the  work,  and  it  is  these,  as  well  as  the  "  walking  delegates,"  that  Bannon 
has  to  fight.  The  story  of  how  they  tried  to  "  tie  up  "  the  lumber,  two 
hundred  miles  away,  and  of  how  he  outwitted  them  and  "  just  carried  it 
off,"  shows  the  kinds  of  thing  that  Bannon  can  do  best.  In  spite  of  his 
temptation  to  brag — he  was  for  two  years  a  "chief  wrecker"  on  the 
Grand  Trunk,  and  has  many  stories  to  tell  —  Bannon  is  one  of  the  men 
without  whom  American  commerce  could  not  get  on.  The  heroine  of 
this  story  is  Bannon's  typewriter. 

Mr.  Henry  Kitchell  Webster  and  Mr.  Samuel  Merwin  have  discovered 
in  the  exciting  movements  of  trade  and  finance  a  field  of  fiction  hitherto 
overlooked  by  American  writers,  but  containing  great  wealth  of  romance. 


GOD  WILLS  IT 

A   TALE   OF   THE   FIRST   CRUSADE 

By  WILLIAM  STEARNS  DAVIS 

Author  of  "  A  Friend  of  Ccesar" 

Goth.     t2mo.     $t.50 

The  story  revolves  around  the  adventures  of  Richard  Longsword,  a 
redoubtable  young  Norman  cavalier,  settled  in  Sicily;  how  he  won  the 
hand  of  the  Byzantine  Princess,  Mary  Kurkuas;  how  in  expiation  of  a 
crime  committed  under  extreme  provocation,  he  took  the  vows  of  the 
Crusader;  how  in  Syria  his  rival  in  love,  the  Egyptian  Emir,  Iftikhar 
Eddauleh,  stole  from  him  his  bride;  and  how  he  regained  her  undei 
romantic  circumstances  at  the  storming  of  Jerusalem  by  the  French. 


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